Don't Let Me Slide
by s wonderful 's marvelous
Summary: When Rory and Tristan unexpectedly reunite on the mean streets of Madison Avenue, they'll have to overcome their differences and embrace their similarities in order to work together. Some say that all's fair in love and advertising, but those people clearly haven't met Tristan Dugray. Trory FutureFic.
1. A Still Verdictless Life

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are owned by Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** Welcome! Come join me, will you, for a little indulgent Trory FutureFic. I've rated this M primarily as a precaution for now, but be warned that something's likely to come up later down the line to justify the rating. (Pun intended.)

Are people even reading Trory anymore? ;-) I guess we'll find out. Apologies in advance for the fact that this chapter is sorely lacking in one half of our dynamic duo, but have no fear - all will be set right in the near future. The story title based on "Don't Let Me Slide" by Tedeschi Trucks Band; Chapter title from John Mayer's "Why Georgia".

 **Chapter 1 - A Still Verdictless Life**

"What's your plan from here?"

Rory slid a cardboard box into her trunk and turned to face her coworker with a pasted-on smile, trying not to show her dismay at the start of what was sure to be a long line of similar questioning. "My first order of business is to figure out how I'm going to get all of my earthly possessions from point A to point B."

"Point B being back east?" Claudia asked. "You're headed home for a while, right?"

"Home, or any daily I come across that's not succumbing to budget cuts." Rory slammed the trunk closed. "Whichever comes first."

"Damn you, Generation Y, and your ever-shifting news paradigm."

Rory gave a rueful laugh. "You're right. I'm blaming Twitter for this whole mess."

Following Claudia back through the lobby, Rory couldn't help but dwell on the gradual changes that had led up to her departure. She wasn't anywhere close to the first staff writer to be let go over the past year, and she was certain she wouldn't be the last. She stepped off the elevator and drew in a deep breath to steel herself for making her way through the bullpen for the last time. The hustle and clamor of the 12th floor had diminished accordingly with the departures of each of her fallen comrades, but it was still a newsroom, and it had been her home away from home for years.

Rory had never been a big fan of goodbyes. Friends and coworkers whom she'd grown to love, and even some of those she'd only grown to tolerate, took a pause from the daily grind to wish her well. She'd watched fellow staff members make their own increasingly ominous exits, knowing that her turn would come eventually. Now that her time had arrived, the overwhelming feeling was that of surrealism as she realized she'd never step off that elevator again.

After she'd made the rounds and finished her farewells, she made one last stop at her desk, or what was left of it. She clutched the name plate that she'd slid out of its holder, the last residual piece that had indicated she was ever there. The space looked exactly as it had on her very first day, but back then it had been full of possibilities. She trailed her fingers listlessly over the barren laminate surface before turning away. Rory turned to give Claudia a tight smile after she pressed the elevator call button.

"I guess this is it," Claudia said. She'd become not only Rory's favorite coworker, but a very close friend. "Do you have everything?"

Rory smiled at her fretting. "I think so."

"Do you want me to walk you down to your car?" she asked.

"I think I can manage," Rory assured her with a smile. "Knowing you, you're already pushing deadline. Get back out there." She gestured with her chin to Claudia's desk, which sat just beyond Rory's. Her vacant desk seemed to stand out like a sore thumb, but they all knew from experience that Facilities would drag it away overnight, and in the morning, the only vestiges of Rory's presence at the StarTribune would be her bylines.

"When do you begin your cross-country trek?" Claudia asked. The elevator arrived with an a familiar ding, and Claudia's eyes darted to the opening doors.

"I have some pickup appointments scheduled tomorrow for the furniture I managed to sell. The plan is to leave early Sunday morning."

"Don't forget to call when you get there, okay?"

"I won't," Rory promised.

Claudia pulled her in for a quick hug. "I don't know how we're going to function here without you."

"I get that a lot," she joked weakly as she pulled away. The elevator doors started to close, and she pressed the call button again to hold it. "Go on, get back to work. I'll talk to you later."

"I'll hold you to that," Claudia warned.

"You can count on it." Rory stepped back into the elevator and watched the doors close for the last time on the 12th floor.

Her heels echoed across the empty lobby, and before she stepped out onto the sidewalk, she took a beat to turn back and see the StarTribune logo emblazoned above the reception desk, remembering her rush of excitement upon seeing it for the first time when she'd come in for her interview. Nothing had changed in the interior of the lobby. That fact was somewhat comforting, but all too soon she had to step out into the crisp spring air, and a sharp breeze swept those comforting thoughts away.

The feeling of surrealism hadn't dissipated by the time she let herself into her apartment. After she tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter and slung her jacket over the couch, she simply stood and surveyed the place formerly known as home. Everything that had made it hers had already been sold or packed away into boxes. Even after an extreme purging of her possessions, she still wasn't sure she was going to be able to fit everything that was left into her car for the long trip back to Stars Hollow.

The sound of her ringtone broke into her contemplation of the stark walls, and she fumbled in her purse until her fingers closed over her phone. "Any brilliant ideas?" she asked, forgoing a greeting.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Lorelai exclaimed animatedly. "I think I finally came up with a plan to depose Taylor from his position of power. Do you know where one would go to purchase about ten dozen mouse traps?"

"Let me clarify. Any brilliant ideas about how I'm supposed to transport myself, plus all my stuff, which seems to have exponentially increased over the past several years, across 1400 miles with nothing at my disposal but a Prius?" Rory plopped down on her couch and sunk into the cushions, pushing away thoughts about how some stranger would come to take it away in less than 14 hours.

"May I remind you that my brilliant idea was to hire a moving truck? You're the one who insisted on going the clown car route."

"The goal was to save money," she pointed out.

"I offered to drive up there in Luke's truck and help, and you turned me down. I still say you're missing out on the opportunity for some great road trip games."

"It didn't make sense for you to drive all the way out here, just to turn right around and drive all the way back. I can take care of it myself." She craned her neck to see the significant pile of her 'to keep' belongings stacked in what used to be the dining room. "I think," she amended nervously.

"If there's anything that doesn't fit, I'm sure you could ship it."

"And I'm sure that wouldn't get expensive," Rory assured sarcastically.

"Since when did you become Scrooge McDuck?"

She laughed in spite of herself. "Scrooge McDuck? Really? Is that the only example of frugality you could think of?"

"I've been kind of preoccupied with Operation Overthrow Doosey. Excuse me if my references aren't quite up to par. But are you really hurting for money?"

"Not yet, but I'll need to save as much as I can for whatever comes next."

"Don't sound so ominous," Lorelai chided. "It's not like you're going to be out on the streets."

Rory sighed. "I know, and I appreciate that." She disentangled herself from the couch cushions and headed into the kitchen to see what it may have to offer in the way of appeasing her growling stomach.

"I know this house may not be able to compete with the standard of living to which you may have grown accustomed, but you'll always have a place to stay."

"My standard of living isn't exactly on par with _Better Homes & Gardens_." She closed the refrigerator door on what turned out to be only a bottle of ketchup and half a bag of lettuce that was the wrong color. "I really do appreciate you and Luke letting me crash, but if all goes according to plan, I won't be in your hair for too long."

"You're welcome here as long as you need."

"I've been hitting up all my contacts, and I already have a few phone calls and meetings scheduled," Rory continued. "With any luck, I may be able to find a new gig before I even finish unpacking."

"Now it sounds like you're rushing to leave before you even get here," Lorelai huffed. "I haven't seen you for longer than a week at a time for years, and yet you're pre-emptively planning to be sick of me that soon?"

"I don't imagine I'll get sick of you _that_ quickly," Rory teased, over Lorelai's incoherent sounds of disbelief. "What's really not sitting well with me is the idea of being jobless, displaced, and completely dependent upon the powers of the universe."

"You'll land on your feet, you always do."

Rory pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "I appreciate the vote of confidence."

"Don't worry, hun. You'll figure something out. And in the meantime, you'll be welcomed back with open arms. The town party is on Tuesday, by the way."

She chose to ignore the bit about the party in hopes that Lorelai was kidding. "Thanks, Mom."

"You're my only daughter, after all."

"That you know of," Rory finished with a smile.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The dashboard clock read 2:23 by the time Rory pulled onto Oak Street in the wee hours of Monday morning. She'd been anxious to leave her empty apartment, so had only waited until her last Craigslist pickup of the day before hitting the road on Saturday afternoon. She got as far as she could that night before shacking up in a cheap motel, and therefore had gotten a later start that morning.

The familiar sights of Stars Hollow were enough to put a smile on her face despite the ungodly hour, and her heart swelled with the knowledge that she was so close to home. She really should've stopped for gas about thirty miles back, but she was confident that that she'd make it there before the needle struck empty. As luck would have it, she managed to hit the one street light in her path while it was on red. There was no one else at the intersection. On the last leg of a 22 hour drive, a red light was exactly what she didn't need. She glanced out the small space she'd managed to create via some fancy Tetris-like moves to see out her rearview mirror. There wasn't a soul to be seen.

At long last she got the green light, and her headlights finally swept across the front porch. She grabbed her purse and her overnight bag off the passenger seat, intensely grateful that she'd had the foresight to keep the essentials in close reach. There was no way she was going to start unloading the car until she'd had a good night's sleep. She trudged up the steps while digging in her purse for her old house key, but before she could fit it in the lock, the door swung open.

"Hiya, hun! Welcome back! How was Fargo?" Lorelai exclaimed in a horrible, yet unmistakable northern accent.

"You've been waiting all night to say that, haven't you?"

"You're darn tootin'!" She grinned, obviously pleased with herself, and she pulled Rory in for a hug.

"You do know that Fargo isn't really anywhere near Minneapolis, right?"

"Sure, but unless on some off-chance you happened to have stopped at Arby's, it was the only line I had."

"What are you even doing up?" Rory asked, dragging her bags into the house. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

"I didn't wait up. I went to bed and set an alarm for when I thought you'd get here, based on the last time you called."

"You're crazy," Rory told her.

"And you're here!" Lorelai cried happily, hugging her once again.

Lorelai's smiled was contagious, and Rory gave in. "Yes, I'm here!" She joined her mom in her excitement for a moment, but then brought them both back down to reality. "But I'll also be here tomorrow, at a more reasonable hour, so why don't we put off the rest of the reunion until then?"

"Party pooper," Lorelai accused, but the impact was a bit diminished by the yawn that immediately followed.

"We'll talk tomorrow," Rory told her firmly.

"Fine. Breakfast at Luke's?"

"Make it a late breakfast slash early brunch, and you're on."

"Done. Love you, hun."

"Love you too, Mom. Goodnight."

Rory dropped her bags on the floor in her room and shut the door behind her. From her perch on the edge of her bed, she took a long look around her old room, so familiar and yet so foreign. This was her home now. She flopped onto her back and stared at the ceiling as she took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands against the onslaught of everything she didn't want to think about. Tomorrow would be a much better time to start sorting out the rest of her life.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Just over sixteen hours later, Rory was Scotch taping a piece of paper to the door of a white-lacquered cabinet when her mother walked through the back door. Lorelai stopped short at the sight of her kitchen and did a double-take. "Obviously," she said matter-of-factly.

Rory smiled and stood back to survey her handiwork. The last paper she'd taped up helped finish the bracket-type chart she'd created of her journalism industry contacts. Starting with those she had the closest connections to and branching out, she'd made the graph to be sure she wouldn't miss out on tapping every available resource during her job hunt. The chart had started on her computer, but she'd decided she preferred the tree-chart-type visual, so she'd switched to hand-drawn. Her laptop was an island in the midst of the papers, lists, and books that littered the surface of the dining table.

"I hope you don't mind," she offered to her mom, perhaps belatedly. "I've got kind of a command center thing going on."

Lorelai shrugged and tossed her bag onto the counter. "It's not like this room has any other purpose."

"You don't think Luke will mind, do you?" she asked.

"Nah, he's nearly stopped trying to cook for me at home. I think it was the frying pan flavor argument that finally wore him down. And anyway, he's staying late at the diner tonight, since apparently there's some sort of clause in his cheese contract about late deliveries. I don't know, I wasn't really listening. But we're on our own for dinner."

"Sounds good, I'm starving!"

"I bet. Just looking at all this work is making me hungry." Lorelai tentatively picked at some of the papers on the table. "What's going on here?"

"I'm job hunting, you know that."

"Yes, but knowing it and seeing it in all its plentiful glory are two entirely different things." She pointed to the cabinet chart as evidence and raised her eyebrows pointedly.

"I've been on the phone all day, talking to people I know, and people I used to know, and trying to figure out who they know, and that led to, well…" She swirled her hand in the air in the direction of her chart, which she was actually a little proud of.

"The third stage of psychosis?" Lorelai offered helpfully.

"Don't mock the system," Rory insisted. "Anything that helps is a good thing at this point. I still can't believe that I've been searching so long and there's still nothing. I mean, I started looking as soon as I found out for sure I'd be let go." Rory sighed. "I don't like this," she admitted.

"So…" Lorelai eyed her daughter warily. "You seem to be holding up pretty well."

Rory sunk into the nearest dining chair and took a look around. "Do I? That's good. That's what I was going for."

"How are you feeling, really?" Lorelai asked. "I mean, being back home and all."

"I have no job - no solid prospects, even - and I just moved halfway across the country to move in with my mom. How do you think I feel?"

"Displaced?"

Rory tilted her head and considered. "Yes, actually. Displaced is an adequate descriptor. I'm physically, mentally, and emotionally displaced."

"As evidenced by the document entitled 'What Do I Want'," Lorelai observed, lifting a paper from the arrangement on the table. Rory watched her as she skimmed the list, nodding and making agreeable sounds. "All this sounds pretty good. I think you're forgetting something, though. You need to take into consideration the great philosophical debate that's plagued mankind for generations."

She grabbed a pen. "And what might that be? Are you going to cite _The Cave_?"

Lorelai raised her eyebrows in a knowing way. "Why did the chicken cross the road?"

Rory dropped her head into her hand with a groan. "I'm so glad that you're able to find amusement in the midst of my existential crisis."

"You'll be fine," Lorelai scoffed. "You're Rory Gilmore!"

"I don't think they care that I'm Rory Gilmore." She smoothed back the pieces of hair that had managed to escape her ponytail and focused on centering herself with a deep breath. "It's fine. Everything will be fine. I have lists and contacts and job postings, and I'm going to sort out a plan. I just don't like that it's so dependent on unknown factors."

Her mom gave her a compassionate look. "Honey, I know you don't like operating without a plan, but sometimes you just … have to."

"Gee, that sounds great." Rory cupped her chin in her hand and stared down at the papers littering the table.

"It is, and you know why?" Lorelai asked, using her fairytale voice as if she were speaking with a three-year-old.

Rory waited, but apparently her mother needed a response from her. "Why?" she asked in defeat.

"Because when you don't have a plan, you don't know where you'll end up!"

"That sounds awful. And _you_ sound like Mary Poppins, or Walt Disney, or some other inspirational crackpot. In real life, it doesn't work that way. Because you know what? Not knowing where you'll end up is not romantic, it's not exciting - it's scary."

Lorelai stood up decisively. "That's it. I originally thought Chinese, but now I'm thinking that we definitely need to swing by Luke's for some emergency mac and cheese and pancakes. What do you think?"

Rory grimaced. "I don't know. I should really stay here and keep going for a while. It's still only four on the west coast."

"No, no way." Her mother pulled at her until she gave in and stood from her chair. "Your crazy lists and charts will still be here tomorrow. And plus, you'll be amazed at how much better things will start to look after mac and cheese."

XxXxXxXxXxX

Two weeks later, the view from Rory's chair was looking pretty good. The large oak desk in front of her held two sleek white computer monitors plus a laptop. A wireframe tray helped manage documents which were threatening to overflow, and a matching pewter cup displayed a bouquet of pens and highlighters. It was the perfect view, but from the wrong angle.

Rory gathered her bag and rose from the winged leather chair as Janet Carlson rose and came around to the front of her desk. "Thank you for your time, Rory," she said graciously. "I apologize that I took up so much of it."

Rory slipped out of Ms. Carlson's office through the heavy wooden door that she held open for her. "Don't apologize, I'm grateful that you took the time to meet with me."

"It was my pleasure. I'm just sorry that I couldn't offer the type of help you're looking for." She followed Rory through the picture-studded hallway of Panoramic Media. The lobby they spilled into was the effective hub of the 23rd floor, and Rory felt somewhat in the way of all the sharply-dressed people milling about.

"That's all right, I understand. Thank you again for seeing me, and if you hear anything…"

"You'll be the first person I call," Janet promised. It was obvious that she meant it. Their meeting had spent about fifteen minutes discussing Rory's work history before quickly transitioning to a passionate discussion of industry trends, including the potential fate of journalism and methods of adaptation. The past two hours had been the most productive and enjoyable of the past two weeks, and that was saying a lot, since this was her tenth meeting in that amount of time.

Rory reached out to shake the other woman's hand. "I'd appreciate that."

"I do hope you'll think about what we discussed," she led gently.

"I will," Rory promised.

"I won't keep you any longer. I have a conference call, and I'm sure you have a train to catch."

"I do, actually." At this rate it might take a near miracle for her to make the departure she had in mind, but she hadn't completely given up hope. "Thank you so much for meeting with me," she reiterated.

"Anytime. I hope to hear from you again soon."

Rory wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so she smiled and nodded. Janet withdrew to her office while Rory turned to leave. Her phone rang, and she moved closer to the perimeter of the lobby in an attempt to get out of the way of the man striding purposefully in her general direction. He strode right past while she answered. "Hey Mom."

"Well?" she demanded impatiently. "What's the news?"

"Apparently there isn't any, anymore." She hoisted her bag up on her shoulder. "At least you wouldn't think so, considering no one wants anyone to write it."

"Aww, hun," Lorelai consoled. "Still nothing?"

"Well…"

"Oh?" Her mother perked up considerably. "What? Do tell!"

"I'll tell you all about it later," Rory promised, making her way toward the elevator. She wasn't exactly keen on disclosing her thoughts on the meeting while still on-site.

"I'm not good with 'later'," Lorelai complained. "Tell me now."

"Mom, I…" Rory trailed off in distraction as she caught glimpse of the elevator. The doors were closing, and she didn't bother running to make it. Instead, she stopped dead in her tracks, nearly causing a collision with another mission-fueled worker behind her.

"What?" Lorelai demanded.

"I'll call you back later." Rory hung up without another word and without waiting to hear the dispute. She was still distracted by the elevator. Almost unconsciously, she leaned to the side, trying to prolong her field of sight as the elevator door drew closed. Just before they shut for good, the face she was contemplating looked up from his phone and caught her gaze, his blue eyes locking on hers at the last second. The door closed just as she had to shift her weight on her feet or risk falling over. She'd realized in that last moment who she'd been reminded of when she caught the glimpse of the man in the elevator, but she shook it off.

One of the other busy people beat her to the call button, leaving her free to answer her vibrating phone with a sigh while she waited for the arrival of one of the other two elevators. "I told you I'd call you back later," she said impatiently. "When have I ever lied to you?"

"Do you really want the full list? Because I have it," her mom threatened.

"I don't have time for the whole list. I'm going to have to literally run to catch my train, which is why I said I'd call you back later. Once I make my departure, I'll have a whole two hours to talk to you."

"I can't say I'm not enjoying the visual of you running through the streets," Lorelai admitted. "Didn't you wear the Louboutin pumps? But why do you have to run? I thought you could catch the train from Grand Central at nearly thirty-minute intervals. I remember you bragging about something to that effect when you started planning these crazy meetings."

"My meetings are not crazy," she insisted defensively. "And I could, but I have a non-peak pass, and if I don't catch the 3:52, then that puts me into peak hours. I'd have to buy a whole new fare."

Lorelai laughed. "You've got to stop pinching pennies. Next thing you know you'll be one of those people who buys forty seven cans of cat food because it's on sale, regardless of whether you actually have a cat."

"No, what I have to do is get off the phone and catch this train," she corrected. "I'll call you in an hour, I swear."

"Fine," Lorelai grumbled. "I love you. Don't break a heel."

With that sage advice, Rory found herself listening to an empty line. She stuffed her phone back in her purse just as the elevator dinged and opened, and she prepared herself for her mad dash across town. She'd fit right in among New York's time-starved population.

It took a lot of effort and a little luck, but Rory fell into her seat at exactly 3:52. She needed a few minutes to catch her breath, and for the first time began to wonder whether people who exercised could really be on to something. The growing ludicrousness of that notion seemed to correlate with the decrease of her heartbeat. She set her purse on the empty seat beside her and situated herself more comfortably on the vinyl cushion. Of course, comfortable and cushion were both relative terms. The Metro-North Railway had been her home away from home for the past two weeks, during the course of which she had lunched, brunched, wined, and dined with every potential contact in the journalism industry. During one of her many jaunts into the city, she'd taken the time to calculate her hours spent commuting, and it wasn't a happy sum.

Knowing she was running down her time limit to call her mother, she dug in her purse for her cell. It began to ring before she could retrieve it. Her mom had probably set a timer. She groped around impatiently before her fingers closed on her phone. Her heartbeat picked up again at the inspection of the caller ID, and she fumbled to answer. "Hello?"

"Hi Rory, it's Hugh." His tone was decidedly downbeat, and she felt the all-too-familiar symptoms of disappointment stirring in her stomach.

"Hi Hugh, how are you?" Just because he was about to crush her dreams didn't mean she couldn't still be polite.

"Good," he admitted, though she noted that he had the good grace to sound humble. "Although I have some bad news. I did some digging around, and no one I've talked to is in a position to take on staff right now. I checked with some other online magazines, even a couple blogs. Sorry."

Rory nodded, belatedly remembering that gestures didn't convey well over the phone. "Oh, um, okay," she said lamely as she recovered. "Well thank you so much for checking. I really appreciate it, and it was good to see you again."

"Anytime, Rory." His voice alone almost made her cringe with its mix of regret and pity. "It was great to see you too. I wish I could've found something for you, but the market is… well. You know how it is."

"That I do." She knew all too well. "Well thanks again Hugh, and thanks for calling."

"Of course. I'd love to keep seeing your spec pieces, and if they don't fit with us, I can definitely help you shop them around."

"Sounds great," she agreed, although 'great' was a wild exaggeration from her actual state of mind.

"And if I hear of anything, I'll let you know," he assured.

She let her hand fall into her lap, still holding her phone, and knocked her head against the seat back a couple times. That was a parting phrase she'd grown uncomfortably accustomed to. When she'd begun her job hunt, she'd known it would take a lot of effort, but she honestly hadn't thought it would be this difficult. Perhaps it was foolish pride, but she'd been convinced that she'd find something. She had amassed several years of solid news writing experience, on top of two years of political writing, plus a hard-earned reputation for reliably riveting freelance work. She wasn't Anna Quindlen, but she wasn't as green as some of the others out there in her position.

She was growing increasingly uncomfortable as she continued to work contacts further outside her immediate network. She was out of her element, and while she was nothing but grateful to everyone she'd spoken with who had been so accommodating, she really did not enjoy being in a position of relying upon others to help her.

Her phone rang again, and this time it was exactly who she was expecting. "Hey."

"That doesn't sound like a good 'hey'," Lorelai accused.

"What kind of a 'hey' were you hoping for? I'm not exactly in an exuberant 'hey' kind of mood. There are apparently no writing jobs left."

"What? How can that be? They have _everything_ covered? There's a lot of news happening out there. You can't tell me all of it is already being written about."

"Don't tell that to me, tell it to them," Rory insisted. "According to everyone I've talked to, they're not in need of any new writers."

"Well that stinks. Did you tell them that you can do it better than half the people they've already got?"

"I must have forgotten to mention that."

"You know what else you forgot to mention? The way you hinted earlier that you may have had some sort of luck during this meeting. Spill!"

Rory was surprised that it had taken her mom this long to bring it up. "Well, the meeting was with Panoramic Media, which is basically a big PR and advertising conglomerate. AJ Abrams referred me there, because their Director of Communications has ties to a few different publications in the city."

"That sounds promising!"

"Yeah, except it's the same story," Rory said. "No one is hiring."

"Oh." Lorelai paused, obviously trying to work it out. "But you did sound like something had happened, when we talked before. I wasn't imagining that."

"No, you weren't." It was Rory's turn to pause, as she took a deep breath. "She kind of offered me a job, there at the company." She winced and pulled the phone away from her ear at her mother's uproarious reaction, and waited patiently for her to calm down before moving on.

"How could this not be the very first thing you told me? For the record, the correct way to have started this conversation would've been 'Hey Mom, I got a job'!" Lorelai exclaimed. "And wait, why don't you sound excited about this?" Her tone deflated noticeably. "What's the catch?"

"It's not exactly a writing job."

"Oh. Well then what kind of job is it? Do they want you to sweep up at night?"

"She wants me to join her public relations team."

"Oh."

"Stop saying 'oh'!" Rory demanded. "I'm going to need some more syllables, and probably a few consonants."

"I don't know what to say. Everything I know about public relations, I learned from Samantha Jones," Lorelai admitted. "Why did she offer that to you? I mean, no offense or anything, but are you qualified for that? You have no experience, right?"

That had been one of Rory's top concerns also, in addition to the obvious fact that it wasn't at all what she'd imagined herself doing. "Actually, it's not that uncommon for a journalist to do PR work. They're kind of similar, except PR is inherently biased, and journalism tends to frown upon bias."

"Well honey, I'm sure you can be biased with the best of them," Lorelai assured her, clearly trying to find a positive spin.

"I already told her no," Rory said. "Or I tried to, anyway. She still wants me to think about it and call her tomorrow with a decision."

"Sounds practical."

"It's not like my answer is going to change by then." She fiddled absentmindedly with the strap on her purse. "Is it?"

"I don't know, is it?" Lorelai asked gently.

"I don't know!" Rory lamented. "I mean, it's not what I was looking for. I've always been focused on hard journalism; I've never even considered anything else. So on the one hand, what would that say about my conviction if I just accepted the first random job that came along?"

"I wouldn't exactly call it random, from what you've said," Lorelai corrected.

"Maybe not completely random," she amended. "But still – shouldn't I stay focused on the original goal?" She sighed and sunk back into her seat while Lorelai remained silent. In the void, she found a second wind. "On the other hand, what if nothing else comes along? The industry is changing so much, and it's not like I can't adapt, but who knows what or when the next opportunity will be?"

"All important things to consider," her mom acknowledged.

"And plus," Rory continued, "What about the fact that this job could potentially, theoretically, open even more doors? Public relations and journalism work hand in hand. I've worked with dozens of PR people, first during the campaign, and then at the StarTribune. So if I did take it, it's not like I would be out of the industry. Who knows who I could meet?"

"That's true."

Rory groaned. "I wish you'd stop being so agreeable, and just tell me what you think I should do."

"No can do, kid. You've got to decide this one on your own."

"You know, sometimes this whole 'supportive and encouraging' routine you've got going on can be really annoying."

"Well in that case, I can give you another number to call," she joked.

Rory laughed. "That's mean," she told her mother perfunctorily. "And there's no way I'm bringing Grandma into this. She's already been trying to set me up with jobs, and they're not exactly what I'm looking for, either."

"The person in charge of reviewing applications at the club to make sure no one gets in without proof of proper breeding?"

"Close. Director of Cultural Development for the DAR."

"Yikes."

"Yeah… So when you think about it, maybe it's best that I take what I can get? I mean, what's the alternative? Wait and hope that someone hands me my dream job on a silver platter?" There was another scenario, which was one of Rory's biggest nightmares lately, and it featured her standing on a street corner with a cardboard sign proclaiming 'will write for coffee'.

"You know you don't get the job of your dreams by waiting and hoping. The state of my kitchen right now proves that."

"Yes, but -"

"I'm not done," Lorelai interrupted. "I think I also need to point out that you're not Dorothy. It's not always as easy as following a yellow brick road."

"It's not even easy following this analogy."

Lorelai sighed at her daughter's inability to grasp the reference. "I'm just saying that if you think this job could even potentially, theoretically, get you to where you want to be, then that's a good thing."

Rory stared out the window while she tried to wrap her head around all the possibilities. Of course she had to consider the opportunity cost of taking the job; what if something else came along, but by that time she was unavailable? She didn't want to miss out on the potential of something better. Then again, the opportunity cost of _not_ taking it was very clear. The fact was, she needed a job, and this one was certainly better than some. Not what she'd counted on, maybe, but… "This sucks," she concluded. What she really wanted was a guarantee.

"I'm sure you'll feel better after you make one of your ridiculous pro-con lists."

"I know you're making fun of me, but yes, I will."

She hung up with the promise to continue the debate when she got home. She'd promised Janet an answer by tomorrow. Not wanting to waste any time, she dug a notebook out of her bag to get down to the business of deciding her future. She flipped to a blank page and simply stared at it while her imagination ran wild with possibilities and consequences.

XxXxXxXxXxX

Rory was still poring over her extensive pro-con list on Friday afternoon when her phone rang. At the sight of the caller ID, she struggled for a moment with the thought of not answering. She wasn't ready. She'd said she would call, so why were they calling her?

She was running out of time as her ringtone neared its end, and her hand snapped out to grab the phone. "Hello?"

"Hi Rory, it's Janet."

"Oh hi, Janet," she said pleasantly, pretending she hadn't seen her name on her caller ID. "How are you?"

"I'm so sorry to call," Janet began, forgoing pleasantries. "I know this isn't what we talked about, but I thought you should know that there have been some changes to what we discussed."

She hadn't even made up her mind yet, and they were already rescinding the offer? Rory's heart sank, to her surprise. She made a mental note to record her disappointment appropriately on the pro-con list. "Oh?" she said politely. "Okay, well, I understand. That's -"

"No, please don't take that the wrong way; the offer still stands. I talked it over with the other Directors, and with some key members of the team, and we'd actually like you to come onboard as a Project Manager."

"Oh?" she said again. Try as she might, Rory couldn't think of anything to add. She kept her lips pressed tightly together in an effort to resist the urge to stammer.

"We've just been hired for a new campaign with a client. Our previous Project Manager is transitioning to a new role with the company, and we'd like you to fill her position."

"Wow, I…" Despite her best efforts, she was stammering just a little. She closed her mouth and then started over. "I really appreciate the offer, but I still don't -"

"Please don't turn me down yet," Janet asked with laughter in her voice. "I know this all seems sudden, but after our meeting yesterday, I knew you were just the type of person we were looking for."

"That's very nice of you," Rory told her sincerely. "But you know my work history. I don't have any experience in public relations. I don't know if I'd be comfortable stepping into such a critical role."

"You're right, I do know your work history. I think you'd be a great fit." Rory noted the confidence in Janet's tone, and couldn't help but be a little envious. She wasn't so sure of anything at the moment. "You'd be working with an Account Exec from the advertising department," Janet continued. "Your team and his would be working in tandem on the campaign. He'll be handling all of the strategic partnerships in addition to the advertising, and generating all of the business interest. They'll be doing most of the pitches, and your primary responsibilities would be media relations, along with planning and executing events for fundraising and brand building. Your experience actually lends itself very well to what we need for this project."

"I appreciate it, I really do," Rory began. Before she could get further, Janet interrupted again.

"I don't usually like to show my hand, but I want to let you know that we could really use you on this." Her honesty was disarming. "I understand your hesitation, but I want you to know that there wouldn't be any expectations on our part. If all goes well for this campaign then of course we would love to have you stay, but I can't even guarantee that we'd have any local positions available. Please also know that I realize this may not be your end goal. If, after the project is done, you decide the position isn't for you, there would be no hard feelings."

Rory took a deep breath, trying to absorb the massive onslaught of information. "I don't know what to say," she admitted. "Can I think about it?"

"Of course. I didn't call you for a decision, I just wanted to fill you in on the changes. Frankly, I'm thrilled that you're still considering it."

"It's a great offer," Rory admitted. "Please don't think I'm ungrateful. I just…"

"I understand. This isn't what you envisioned when AJ set up our meeting. Although, you should know, I did talk to him about it, and he agrees that you'd be fantastic."

She was glad that everyone else was so confident in her abilities. Realistically, she was well aware that she could do an adequate job in whatever project they threw her into. But Rory Gilmore had never been in the business of being adequate, and the fact that she wasn't tried and tested in these waters was slightly intimidating. "I'll call and let you know by the end of today," she promised.

"I'll look forward to it. Goodbye, Rory."

She hung up her phone and let her head drop to her folded forearms on the kitchen table. The papers that still littered the surface crinkled underneath her and she knew she was probably creasing them. She tilted her neck to rest her chin on her arms and look up at her computer screen. The window for her email server was blinking, and she clicked over to find that a chat window had popped up. She smiled and lifted herself from the table to compose a response.

She took the opportunity to fill her friend in on recent developments. To her surprise, Paris didn't attempt to persuade her one way or the other, though she did threaten that if Rory ever turned into a 'spin doctor sell-out', she'd make Paris's official enemy list. That was one list that Rory would prefer to stay far away from. She clicked back over to the window containing the 5-page pro-con list she'd carefully created. It was a masterpiece. According to the list, complete with a weighted point system assigned to all variables, her decision should be clear.

She stood from her chair and stretched, then made her way over to the fridge. The image of its contents was etched into her mind's eye by the time she shut the door, deciding she wasn't hungry. Instead she poured herself a cup of coffee in one of her favorite mugs and brought it with her back to the table.

She eyed her phone warily. Eventually she reached across her keyboard and the expanse of papers to grab it, and scrolled to the contact she wanted. Her stomach was tight and the blood in her veins felt cold with adrenaline. The line rang three times before an answer.

"Hi Janet," she greeted. "This is Rory Gilmore."


	2. You Know That I'll Be Back Again

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** Oh, I'm sorry, you actually wanted both of the main characters to make an appearance? Your wish is my command - the lack of Tristan has been rectified. This chapter's title is from "Crush" by Gavin DeGraw.

PS - Does anyone have a definitive answer regarding the spelling of Tristan's last name? IMDB and the Gilmore Girls Wiki both say it's "Dugray", and Wikipedia says "DuGrey". (Clearly, these are the most reliable sources in the history of the land.)

 **Chapter 2 - You Know That I'll Be Back Again**

Rory emerged from the subway and darted a glance up and down the sidewalk. She had no idea how long it would take to get used to the city, but in the meantime, it was awkward to never quite know where she was going. She hated looking like a tourist, though that was effectively what she was. It would take more than a New York address to change that.

It took only a brief awkward moment before she got her bearings and set off in what she was ninety percent sure was the right direction. She'd officially moved in three days ago, and had only gotten lost twice so far. Once had been when she was on her way home, so that was embarrassing, but she'd made it eventually. Thank God for smart phones. Though on the other hand, it was also embarrassing that her phone was apparently smarter than she was. She made a mental note to use her next available block of free time to do some in-depth exploration. Unfortunately, there was no telling when that block would come.

From the moment she'd accepted Janet's offer, her life had been swept up in the whirlwind of moving and starting a brand new job. Rory's life was Aunt Em's house, which made Manhattan the land of Oz, and she was on her way to see the wizard. Her first few days at the office had been chaos, but between meeting her team and finding the coffee maker, she'd managed to glean quite a bit of information about the client she'd be serving. Her coworkers were pleasingly astute, and by the time they were done filling her in, Rory was actually excited to meet the man who was making this project a reality. She'd also gotten full disclosure about the advertising executive she'd be working with, and her thoughts about meeting him were trending in the opposite direction.

A man in a three-piece suit was just leaving Café Sol as Rory approached and he held the door open, so she hurried her last few strides and mumbled a thank you. The weather was heating up as spring progressed, so the air conditioning was on high blast in the entryway and her loose hair blew around her shoulders until she stepped further into the lobby. It was busy, considering that 2 pm wasn't a traditional meal time, but before she made her way to the podium, she took a look around.

"Rory Gilmore?"

She spun in the direction of the voice. The man was a few inches taller than her, wearing a suit that likely cost more than the hefty security deposit she'd just put down on her new apartment. She imagined that he probably started out the day looking like a coifed news anchor, but by the afternoon, his shirt was wrinkled and his dark hair was ruffled. Anyone else might look frazzled or unkempt, but he made it work for him. She reached out to shake his proffered hand. "Mr. Stone?" she asked.

"Please, call me Jason." He smiled, and Rory relaxed as she immediately warmed toward him. "Thank you for coming."

"I wouldn't miss it," she assured. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

He raised his brow. "Finally?"

"Well, yeah. I've heard so much about you and your company that I feel like I know you already."

He gave her a curious look. "I was under the impression that you just recently joined the team."

"That's true," Rory admitted. "I've only been with Panoramic for about a week, but I got a crash course." Not to mention, she'd spent hours each night leading up to today's meeting poring over files and doing all the background research she could in order to prepare.

"Do me a favor and don't hold anything you've heard against me, okay?" he requested good-naturedly. "At least let me prove to you myself how neurotic I am."

"I promise," she agreed. "I prefer to get my scoop straight from the source, anyway." It was nice to put a face to a name, and this face seemed to perfectly match the name he'd built for himself. Jason Stone was the VP of Operations for RJT Corporation. By all accounts, he was brilliant, though not the kind who took care to show off.

Jason excused himself to have a brief word with a hostess, then immediately waved Rory over. He gestured for her to go first as the hostess led them into the dining room. They were taken to one of the only open tables, basked in the sunlight flooding in from the windows. Mr. Stone politely pulled out her chair before taking his seat. Rory thanked the hostess who handed her a single-page menu, and took note that an extra was left at one of the empty place settings.

He must have noticed her glance. "Our third sent me a message while I was on my way - he'll be joining us shortly."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him."

Jason's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I thought you would've been introduced already."

"Our schedules just haven't aligned. I've been in back-to-back meetings in order to get up to speed, and he and his team have already been hard at work," Rory assured him, wanting to alleviate any misconception that Panoramic may be behind schedule in early stages of the project.

He grinned. "You've heard a few things about him as well, I assume?"

Rory smiled. "I have. But like I said, I've never been one to take second-hand information at face value."

"With him, that's probably best. On paper, I imagine he'd sound a little rough around the edges."

"Yeah, they told me the SinOptics story." They'd told her a lot more than that, but she figured that Jason must be aware of the other man's dossier. From the stories pieced together from her team, Rory had assembled an image of him that was essentially a hybrid of Rhett Butler, Dorian Gray, and Han Solo - minus the lightsaber and obviously noble intentions.

"I've heard that one, too," Jason said with a laugh. "I bet that's the first pitch they've ever received to have taken quite that approach."

"So it's not just an urban legend in the advertising industry?"

"Oh no, it's very real. I know that company. It was a two million dollar campaign. Panoramic was the last pitch they saw, and SinOptics decided that they wanted to incorporate an idea from one of the other agencies into the proposed campaign. Your guy told them to take his idea as it was, or go screw themselves." Jason shook his head in amusement. "I wish I could've seen their faces. That took ba- … guts," he corrected.

"But they ended up going with Panoramic's campaign anyway?"

Jason nodded. "He closed the deal, landed the client, took the campaign national, and won an ADDY. He may be unconventional at best, but he's charming and brilliant, and in his industry, that's all that matters."

Rory shook her head skeptically. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Well get ready, because here it comes." Jason waved at someone behind her and stood from his chair.

Rory laid her menu to rest on her plate and followed his lead, smoothing her jacket as she stood to face their late guest. His sure stride faltered as he approached, but he recovered quickly.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he announced. He greeted Jason with a handshake before locking his gaze back on Rory.

"No harm done," Jason assured. "Glad you could make it. I wanted to speak to you both together, and I just heard that the two of you haven't yet had a chance to meet. This is the new PR Project Manager, Rory Gilmore."

The man's eyes lit with interest and his polite smile turned full-watt as he reached out to shake her hand.

"Rory," Jason continued, "May I introduce Tristan Dugray?"

Rory was still trying to recover her faculties, but managed to take his extended hand. The familiar mischievous glint in those blue eyes, the slight crookedness to his smile that suggested he was laughing at her; it all came crashing back. That piercing gaze was the very one that had been haunting her subconscious since she'd seen him in the elevator at Panoramic. After several beats longer than social norms dictated, she realized her hand was still in his, and she snatched it back unceremoniously.

"We've met, actually," Tristan corrected, clearly addressing Jason but still not dropping his eyes from Rory.

"Oh really?" Jason looked taken aback, and Rory could only imagine what she must look like. She focused on keeping a politely interested smile on her face, but she couldn't deny that she was thrown off-balance by the unexpected blast from her past. Of course Tristan looked cool as a cucumber, rocked back on his heels and still watching her with interest.

"Yes, we used to know each other," she confirmed.

"This is even better than I could've hoped for." Jason seemed pleased as they took their seats. "You two will obviously be working closely on this project, and that's part of why I wanted this meeting today. I love it when part of my job is already done for me."

"We've partnered on projects before," Tristan revealed. "Rory tends to have a unique outlook and approach. We make a pretty good pair, if I do say so myself." He grinned at her like the cat that ate the canary.

Rory was dumbfounded and trying not to show it. Was he remembering the same history that she was? When had they ever worked well together? She couldn't exactly contest the point in front of Jason, who was now eyeing her curiously based on the conflicting information she'd shared with him moments before.

"Yes, years ago," she clarified. "I didn't realize that Tristan was the man we'd been talking about."

"I'd love to hear how that discussion was going," Tristan goaded with amusement.

Tristan, not to mention Jason, were saved from Rory's retort by the appearance of the waiter and the announcement of the day's fresh greens. She bit her tongue, reminding herself that this was Jason's first impression of her.

Once they'd ordered and handed over their menus, Jason leaned forward on his elbows. "I know you've both been briefed on the basics of this project and your roles in the campaign, so I'm going to try not to bore you too much," he began. "As you know, TerraSync is a bit of a passion project of mine, so feel free to let me know if I start to wax poetic."

"I'll stop you before you start to rival _War and Peace_ ," Tristan agreed.

"We'd love to hear more about your vision," she told Jason. Then she shot a chiding look at Tristan. "Far be it for us to cut you off."

"No, of course not. Then it would just be _'War_ '." Tristan gave her an innocent smile, but there was no ignoring the teasing amusement in his eyes.

Jason had been watching their exchange with curiosity, but he transitioned seamlessly into the reason for their meeting. "TerraSync is my baby, and while it's something I've longed to do for years, this is the first opportunity the Board of Directors has given me to really give this a shot and see if it catches. That's where you two come in."

From the moment she'd accepted the job, Rory had made a point of familiarizing herself with TerraSync and felt that she had a pretty solid grasp on the premise. It was essentially a pilot program, to see if Jason's passion project could become a reality. TerraSync in pilot form was a non-profit, and was partnered with a large, international manufacturing client to develop a tailored plan to implement environmentally sustainable business practices and strategic green initiatives. TerraSync would front a significant portion of the initial investment required for implementation, so for the pilot, a large chunk of Rory's responsibilities would include fundraising and generating public interest.

Knowing the goal and hearing Jason talk about it were two completely different things, and Rory found herself leaning forward in her seat to listen raptly. His conviction was written all over his face, and his passion bled into his words. "TerraSync is experimental for now, but by the quarterly RJT board meeting in October, I'll present the results of the project with the hope of securing funding and getting buy-in for an official launch as a subsidiary." He pointed to Tristan. "That's why we need you working the B2B angle, to generate interest and get me some data to back the viability of this. The Board will need to see evidence of potential client interest. And Rory, I'm sure you've had a chance to review the project plan and see what we have planned for the actual implementation. It won't come cheap, which is why we're relying on you to get a jump on fundraising. I have faith that my operations team can make this happen, but we're relying on Panoramic to support cash flow and to keep our target audiences engaged."

Jason let his words settle in while he sipped his water. "Oh, and all of this is in a condensed, five month timeline."

"Ambitious," Tristan commented.

"Admirable," Rory argued.

"I'd like to think it's a little of both," Jason reasoned. "It wouldn't be worth doing if it weren't a bit of a reach, and I wouldn't be as passionate about this if I didn't think it was a worthy cause." His eyes were alight with excitement while he spoke, and it was obvious that he was wholly committed. "But I'm not trying to paint it better than it is," he continued. "As much as I'd love to say this is a pure and noble endeavor, that's not the entire story. Let's face it - this is a money game. TerraSync would front a significant percentage of the initial investment needed to implement these sustainable strategies for clients, in return for a small percentage of the pay-off from long-run profits. The goal is really just to make it as easy as possible for these strategies to be implemented."

"That's your competitive advantage," Tristan chimed in. "In today's market, it's become an expectation to start making some sort of sustainability effort. But that's how we'll distinguish you from the white noise – _you_ make the effort, not them."

"It could be a walk in the park from a publicity standpoint," Rory added. "There are so many ways to package and sell sustainability these days. We can work the lead-up to election season to our advantage, too. We won't have any shortage of news pegs."

Tristan nodded definitively. "We'll make it happen."

"What would you like to see from us?" Rory asked anxiously.

Jason was grinning. "This. This is exactly what I'd like to see. You have no idea how much I appreciate your enthusiasm. You both have full reign over this campaign. Do with it what you will. I'm no expert in media or influencing public opinion, so I think the best thing for me to do at this point is to stand back and let you do what you do best."

Rory sat back at the waiter's arrival while her plate was set in front of her. Jason's last comment had struck a nerve. Did he know that he was putting his beloved project in the hands of a first-timer? The thought haunted her through their lunch while Jason and Tristan continued to discuss the possibilities for the campaign. They'd been working together already for about a week before Rory got in the game, brainstorming preliminary ideas. She couldn't help but feel a little like the new kid who'd accidentally sat down at the cool table.

She contributed where she could and was pretty pleased with how well she'd kept up, though she left the table with a mental list of additional research to be done. Jason led the way through the dining room and back into the still-crowded lobby. She rubbed elbows with Tristan while they passed through the air-conditioned entryway and spilled out into the street.

"Thank you both for coming," Jason said. "I'm glad we had the chance to talk about the project, and not just because it's my brainchild and I love to brag." He grinned and glanced at his watch before running his hand through his hair with a sigh. "And now, sadly, I'll have to leave you two to get reacquainted and get down to business."

"I'm looking forward to it," Tristan said congenially, but unfortunately Rory knew him better than that, and didn't miss his sidelong glance.

"We'll both look forward to getting to _work_ ," she confirmed.

"Consider this the official passing of the torch," Jason told them. "It's your campaign. Now run with it." He paused to pull his vibrating cell phone from his pocket, and his brows furrowed. "And this is my cue to run. I'm sure we'll talk soon." He already had his phone to his ear while he turned away.

"Well, well, well," Tristan mused, angling toward Rory. "Of all the ad campaigns in all the world, you just happened to sign on to mine."

Rory gave him a speculative look. "First of all, allow me to make one minor correction – this is not _your_ campaign. As of thirty seconds ago, Jason handed it over to _us_."

He gave her an expectant look for a couple beats before he urged her on. "Don't leave me hanging. Was there a second of all?"

"Second of all…" she stammered. What had been her second of all? "Don't get carried away with any ideas of treating this like just another ad campaign."

He raised his eyebrows in amusement and crossed his arms over his chest, his suit jacket tightening across his broad shoulders. "How do you mean?"

"If we hope to accomplish the kind of brand-building we're going to need by the time of the RJT board meeting, we're going to be relying pretty heavily on PR and more guerilla-type marketing. Traditional advertising isn't going to play much of a role."

"Fine by me. I'm not really a 'traditional' kind of guy."

She rolled her eyes. "You don't need to tell me."

They were creating a roadblock in front of the restaurant and getting jostled by passers-by, so she moved closer toward the windows of the building. She'd planned to find a more out-of-the way spot to continue their discussion, but Tristan urged her to keep walking with a hand placed briefly on her back.

"Does my reputation precede me?"

"Which reputation would that be?" She adjusted her stride to match his. "The one for playing fast-and-loose with clients? Or the one for leaving me in the lurch?"

He frowned down at her while they came to a stop at a crosswalk. "I know you can't be talking about my untimely departure from Chilton. You couldn't possibly still hold that against me."

"Don't underestimate me."

"I can't believe you even remember that. I'm sure you aced that little school project, anyway."

"Of course I did. That's not the point." With her attention focused on Tristan, she was jostled by fellow pedestrians as they crossed the intersection. "We were counting on you. You jumped ship at the last minute, and the rest of us had to pick up your slack. I'm not going to put myself in the same position again."

"Hey, the show must go on, right? And I bet it ended happily ever after."

"I kissed Paris!" she blurted.

He spared her an amused glance but didn't slow his pace. "That's not the kind of happy ending I was referring to, but whatever floats your boat."

"I just want -" A bike messenger flew down the street, and a man perilously in his path jumped out of the way, knocking Rory into Tristan.

He caught her easily and kept her on her feet. His hands gripped her upper arms until he was sure she had her balance, and then he pulled her over near a trash can and out of the flow of traffic. "You just want what?"

"I need to know that this will work out."

He looked down at her, bemused. "Do you see me wearing a little blue vest? I don't offer a money-back guarantee," he scoffed. "I'm a realist. I can't give you that. I _can_ tell you that, believe it or not, I take my job seriously."

"I have a lot on the line with this project," she admitted.

Tristan looked away and ran his hand through his hair. "Yeah, well, so do I." Then he grinned. "It's a good thing I'm the best, then, isn't it?"

"So glad to hear that your ego hasn't suffered from prolonged exposure to the mean streets of Madison Avenue."

"I've managed to carve out a place for me and my ego," he assured her. "I can be ruthless with the best of them."

"Now that I can believe. That's part of what worries me."

"Don't you trust me?" The amused, mischievous glint in his eye was in flat contradiction to the innocent look he tried to give her.

"I don't trust you any farther than I could throw you, and to alleviate some suspense, I'll let you know right now that I'm no one's first pick for short-stop."

"I can't attest for your throwing arm, but you were one of my first picks."

"What do you mean? A pick for what?"

He shrugged. "Derek shared with me Janet's short list for the Project Manager role on her team."

Derek Amir was Panoramic's Senior Director of Account Services - Rory had met him briefly during her nickel tour of the office on her first day.

"And?" she demanded.

"And I gave him my feedback."

They were nearing the stairs for the subway, and she grabbed Tristan's arm and forced him to stop and look at her. "What was your feedback, exactly?" she asked apprehensively.

"I told you, you were one of my first picks."

Rory tensed and removed her hand from his arm, taking a small step back. She was terrified of the idea that Tristan had anything to do with her landing the job. "Why would you do that?" She shook her head. "What am I saying, I know exactly why. You always have to stir things up, just to see how people react. This isn't high school anymore, Tristan, and I can't believe you would pull this at work, which, contrary to what you've just said, you apparently _don't_ take very seriously. Not that I should be surprised."

"Hey, now," Tristan tried to cut in, but Rory was stuck in ramble mode, unable to stop the word vomit as her mind grappled with coming to grips with one of her biggest nightmares about this job - that she wasn't qualified, and this wasn't where she was meant to end up.

"You always did know how to push just the right buttons. I'm sure it was pretty amusing to try to get a rise out of me back then, but that's nothing compared to now, right? This is just my life we're talking about, no big deal. I'm supposed to believe that you take your job seriously, and yet you were willing to recommend me professionally for a high-profile project based on some stupid high-school crush?" She'd worked herself up to a full-on rant, and paused to catch her breath.

Tristan raised his eyebrow. "My, aren't we presumptuous? Are you finished?" When Rory's only response was to cross her arms across her chest, he continued. "As I was saying, your name was on the short list. Derek asked me for my opinion. After doing my own extensive research on _all_ the candidates, I let him know that I thought you would be the best fit for the team. You yourself just told me not ten minutes ago that this isn't a traditional ad campaign, and you're right. Your experience was the best match. And finally, while I like to think that my input carries some weight, the decision ultimately belonged to the Directors. You're here on your own merit, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Okay. As long as that's settled," Rory mumbled, feeling thoroughly chastised. That little outburst wasn't embarrassing at all.

Tristan saved her from feeling guilty for too long. "Are you blushing, Mary?"

"My mistake," she admitted reluctantly, ignoring his goading.

"I wouldn't risk this campaign for anything. Not even for the chance to see an old high school crush." He winked at her, letting her know that while her outburst may be forgiven, he wasn't ready to let her live it down quite yet.

Wanting a diversion, Rory collected herself and made a move toward the subway stairs. "Come on," she urged him. "It's been super great catching up and all, but I have a 4:00 meeting."

"I have to make a quick stop to drop off a contract up the block, but if you -" Tristan reached out and reeled Rory in toward him, away from the stairs, with a hand against her lower back. "Where are you going?"

She side-stepped his touch and looked up at him in annoyance, gesturing behind her. "I'm heading back to the office."

"Don't go that way. Just run up to Chambers and take the 1, it'll be much faster."

"I'm not 'running' anywhere in these."

Tristan's looked down to examine the three-inch heels she was pointing to, and then took his time in letting his eyes climb back up to meet hers. "Suit yourself. I'll see see you back there." He lifted a hand in parting and seamlessly assimilated back into the crowd on the sidewalk, heading uptown.

Rory forced herself to look away from his receding back and consulted her watch. She had 30 minutes before her meeting. The stairs she stood in front of were the same ones she'd emerged from a couple hours prior, and she knew that in theory, she should be able to retrace her steps. She'd researched routes to Cafe Sol the night before, wanting to be prepared. She hadn't thought to check the train schedule to determine the best way back. She stood frozen on the sidewalk as the seconds ticked away, wondering whether she should allow herself to trust Tristan's judgement on the matter.

Wait, trust Tristan? Who was she kidding?

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Hold it, please!" Rory called as she trotted across the marble-floored lobby. Between the three-inch heels and slim-fitting pencil skirt, she was moving as fast as she could. "Thanks." She gave an apologetic smile to the other patrons of the elevator. She punched the button for the 27th floor and watched the numbers tick by anxiously as they rose.

Another futile look at her watch told her she had exactly forty-five seconds before her 4:00 meeting would begin. She wasn't sure what had happened, but somehow her return trip from Cafe Sol had taken longer than she'd expected.

The doors finally opened on 27 and Rory slipped out, narrowly avoiding a collision with a fellow employee as she raced toward the conference room. On her very first visit to Panoramic to meet with Janet, Rory hadn't imagined herself joining the ranks of the building's well-dressed-yet-apparently-perpetually-late inhabitants.

And yet, there she was, about to enter her 4:00 meeting at 4:00:30, which was practically the latest Rory Gilmore had ever been for anything, save for one ill-fated high school exam. She spared another two seconds to catch her breath before she opened the door to the conference room and entered as surreptitiously as she could. Luckily, the meeting hadn't appeared to have started, as the room's 8 or so audience members were still chatting quietly amongst themselves. Derek Amir, the meeting organizer, was seated at the head of the table and still engaged in a side conversation. Rory quickly spotted an empty seat, but to her dismay, that's where her luck ended.

She studiously ignored Tristan's knowing smirk as she sank down into her seat next to him, but she couldn't help but simultaneously wonder how the hell he could've beaten her.

"Rough trip, Mary?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she insisted. She thought that perhaps by refusing to look at him, he would take the hint. She should've known better.

"So it's just a habit of yours to show up fashionably late?"

"Do you think I didn't notice that you were late to the actual _client_ meeting?"

"Right, I forgot," Tristan scoffed. "Nothing slips past you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

Rory didn't get her chance to press him further, as the gentleman at the head of the table began to gather their attention.

"Alright, folks, let's get started." Derek kicked off the meeting. This was the first time Rory had been in the same room with this particular assortment of people, though she'd already met individually with many of them during her brief tenure.

Of course Rory had thoroughly reviewed the agenda the night before, and had prepared her notes and feedback. The attendees gathered around the table included a handful of members of her own team and some of Tristan's. There was only one person she didn't recognize, a kid who didn't look a day over twenty-two, wearing a wrinkled, untucked button-down shirt and what Rory could only think to describe as hipster glasses. When he piped in with a question about digital rights management pertaining to Panoramic's integration with RJT Corporation, Rory surmised that he was from the IT department.

She was pleased with some of the questions asked and insight offered by her team. She'd known after her first meeting that they were going to work great together - her small team was smart, organized, and on the ball. She only hoped that she was measuring up to that standard, at a glance. Inwardly, she had definitely had her fair share of panic moments, wondering whether she was up to this. She didn't like to be underprepared, but between feeling out of her element in a PR position and coming in late to the project, she'd been plagued with feelings of inadequacy that were proving difficult to shake.

Derek closed out the meeting by reminding them all of the importance of this campaign. RJT Corporation was a long-standing client, but as a pretty well-established company without much need for advertising or audience engagement, their yearly spend with Panoramic was nominal. If they were able to add TerraSync to the portfolio, it would become a top-tier account.

After Derek had dismissed them, Rory studiously ignored Tristan and beelined for Macy, a PR Specialist on her team.

"Hey, boss!" Macy grinned at her as she approached.

"Don't call me boss," Rory chided. It had already become a routine of theirs. "Do you have that press release ready for tomorrow?"

"I sent it for your review right before this meeting," Macy confirmed. "You should have it in your inbox."

"Great, thank you. I haven't had a chance to look for it." She felt no need to confide that the reason for that had something to do with the fact that she'd been busy running down 23rd street in heels.

Macy fell into step with Rory as they filed out of the conference room. "You bet. Just let me know if you have any feedback. If not, I have it slated for distribution to the big 5 dailies for tomorrow."

"You know, I just read about an upcoming symposium on sustainable manufacturing, I think it was in Denver. I'll confirm that and let you know."

"Roger that, boss. Couldn't hurt to include the Denver Post, if that's the case. But hey, I have to swing by Schneider's office. Catch you later!"

Rory had done enough running for the day, so she treated herself to an elevator ride down the two floors back to her office rather than suffer on the stairs. She made a mental note to bring some flats to keep in her office.

The setting sun cast a dusky glow across her desk. The room was warm, and she hastily shed her jacket and hung it neatly off the back of her chair before she sunk down into her seat, allowing herself to slump in a way that would cause Miss Patty to have heart palpitations for the effect on her posture.

"Long day?"

Rory sprang upright in her seat and gasped, then put a hand over her racing heart. "Oh my god, don't do that."

"What did I do now?" Tristan pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against, emerging from partial shadow.

"You forgot to turn off your 'stealth mode'."

"Sorry. Tomorrow I'll make sure to wear the collar with the bell."

"May I help you?"

"You ran out of Derek's meeting pretty quickly," he observed.

"I'm a busy girl."

"Actually, that's partly why I chased you down. I know you've been working on getting up to speed, so I wanted to talk about TerraSync's first fundraising event."

"What about it?"

"I had Sophia on my team get started on some preliminary plans, and I added some notes of my own. I'll send them over to you, but first I just wanted to -"

"Wait, you what?"

He spoke more slowly, as if she were somehow having trouble understanding. "Jason's team is counting on us for a cash flow injection ASAP. I asked my team to start working on some ideas."

Rory stood and walked around to face him in front of her desk. "You don't have to explain to me the importance of fundraising. I have it under control."

A line appeared between Tristan's brows as he narrowed his eyes slightly. "I just thought that while we were waiting around for someone to fill your position, we could get a headstart."

"Your thought is duly noted. But, here I am." She waved her hands over herself as if to say 'ta-da!' "You can just leave the fundraising in my very capable hands."

"My hands are perfectly capable too, you know," he argued, his eyes now alight with familiar teasing.

"Keep your hands to yourself."

"I can't make any promises. I hope you'll come to find that I'm a very hands-on type of guy."

Rory made every effort not to blush while she stubbornly held his gaze, not willing to let him see any effect his words may be having on her. "I can handle my own business."

"I didn't offer to 'handle your business'. Not that it's not an appealing proposition. I was merely offering some assistance, but I guess I forgot who I was dealing with."

"I have this under control."

"Of course you do, Mary. I just -"

She interrupted him with a finger, and it wasn't the one she would've preferred to use. "For the last time, my name is Rory!"

Tristan took a step closer to her, eliminating the business-appropriate distance between them. " _Rory_ ," he emphasized. "Contrary to what you seem to think, my intent is not to step on your toes. This campaign is important to me, and I know it's important to you too. Just take a look at the ideas. I think you'll find that it won't be time wasted."

"Fine," she hissed.

"There," he smiled. "Was that so hard?"

He was standing so close that she could see evidence of a five o'clock shadow. His clear blue eyes were still locked on her, and after the passing of the several moments in which she could've crafted a witty comeback, the air between them shifted. His eyes darkened infinitesimally, and he drew in a breath. After a pause, he seemed to change his mind, and simply said, "It's nice to see you again."

She swallowed. "I should get back to work."

He reached up to rub the back of his neck, and looked away. "Yeah. Sure. I'll leave you to it."

The minute he'd dropped her gaze, Rory felt a nearly physical release of tension. The temperature in the room didn't seem quite as stifling. "Hey, Tristan?"

He paused in her doorway and looked back at her expectantly.

"It's nice to see you again, too."

"See you around, Mary."

Rory watched him walk away until he disappeared around the corner. She sat back down at her desk and took a few moments to enjoy the sun setting on the sliver that she could see of Madison Square Park, before turning her attention back to her computer. She planned to get started on some of the additional research she'd planned after the meeting with Jason that afternoon. She had had time to type out her ideas for follow-up in her phone while waiting for the train, and she quickly pulled up her notes.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a new email message populate at the top of her inbox, and the subject line caught her attention - _"Handle This"_. She laughed softly in spite of herself. It contained the ideas Tristan had mentioned for fundraising events, which he'd apparently sent from his phone about thirty seconds ago. She shook her head ruefully as she read through them. Of course, they were good. Damn him.


	3. Not So Little, You And I, Anymore

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television. (Nor do I own a line in this chapter which I've blatantly stolen from _Angel_. Brownie points if you recognize it.)

 **AN:** I'm using this space as a public commitment - I'll be using this story for NaNoWriMo this year. What that means, theoretically, is that I should be able to stick to a semi-regular posting schedule.

On a related note - How much alcohol is too much alcohol when one is writing, and subsequently publishing to the internet? Read this chapter, then tell me where I was over the limit. (Just kidding. Mostly.) This chapter's title is from "You And I Both" by Jason Mraz.

 **Chapter 3 - Not So Little, You And I, Anymore**

"So Michel has nicknamed these guests the Courtesy Capers, because they don't actually steal anything, so much they as apply an extremely liberal approach to their ownership rights of anything that could be considered a courtesy supplied by the Dragonfly."

"That's not theft. A certain level of material comfort is expected at establishments such as yours."

"I'm going to choose to ignore the way you said 'establishments such as yours'," Lorelai conceded, using only a slightly mocking tone as she quoted Emily. "Now, I'm not saying I begrudge them the little shampoos and tiny soaps. The coffee packets and tea bags are also totally up for grabs, along with the stationary and pens. But seriously - they took our light bulbs. They're like Ross Geller."

"Who is Ross Geller?" Emily demanded.

"Were they at least CFL bulbs?" Rory dutifully stepped in to reroute the conversation, sensing that it was probably best to save her grandmother from an in-depth rehash of The One With Rachel's Dream.

"You'll be happy to know that the Dragonfly uses exclusively LED bulbs."

"Wow, color me impressed. Stars Hollow, on the cutting edge of sustainable energy."

"I'm a leader, not a follower," her mother informed her, as if clearly that was a given.

Emily angled purposefully toward her granddaughter. "Rory, tell me more about your new position. I understand you're working on some fairly impressive sustainability efforts of your own, but I haven't heard nearly enough about it."

"I know, Grandma, I'm sorry. I wish I'd had more time to catch up with you, I've just been so busy with work."

"Of course, dear, I'm not blaming you. It's just that your mother has been so tight-lipped on the subject, and I'd really like to hear about how things are going for you."

"Things are going well. Although, you should know, they're not _my_ sustainability efforts. I don't really have anything to do with the work that TerraSync is doing - I'm just on the public relations team."

"Oh, really? Well I've been reading about TerraSync almost every day. There seems to be quite a lot going on. What exactly is your role?"

"She's the reason that you're reading about them every day." Lorelai gave her daughter a proud smile, and Rory lowered her eyes to her plate in embarrassment.

"I work on a really great team, and we're all responsible for making sure the media continues to cover what TerraSync is doing."

"She's being modest," Lorelai interrupted. "She manages the team."

"Well, I direct workflow, but I don't actually lead the people on my team. They don't report to me," Rory corrected.

"She just tells them what to do."

"But what is it that you do, exactly?" Emily questioned.

"TerraSync is a new non-profit, so we're getting the name out there, for starters. I've been busy so far planning events, and we've been preparing for some focus groups that we're starting next week. We've had to generate a lot of public interest to help with fundraising, and the long-term goal is to build the brand and make sure other companies want to work with them."

"Are you enjoying your work?" her grandmother asked.

"I am, actually."

Lorelai didn't miss the note of surprise in her daughter's voice. "Are you getting face time with other journalists and editors, like you wanted?"

Rory nodded. "Yeah, I've gotten to work with a pretty broad range of staff at most of the city's major dailies so far, and sometimes we send releases or even get inquiries from out-of-state, even though most of our events at this point are local. It's been really interesting to be on the flip side, you know? I'm used to being on the receiving end of this kind of stuff, as a writer."

"Do you miss writing?"

"Sometimes," Rory admitted. "Not that I don't do a lot of writing in this job, because I definitely do. But there have been a few hectic days, when I find myself wishing I could just spend some quality time alone with my keyboard. But it's exciting, too, to actually be a part of the action - shaping events, rather than just reporting them."

"I'm glad to hear that you're enjoying it. I understand that this position has an expiration date, though. Do you think you'll stay in the area when your role comes to an end?" Emily asked hopefully.

"I think I'd like to," Rory acknowledged. "It really is great to be back, so close to home. But I guess I'll have to wait and see what happens." She shrugged, and fiddled anxiously with her napkin under the table.

"You've got time to figure it out," her mom assured her.

"And is there a man in your life these days?" Emily pressed.

"Ah," Lorelai nodded knowingly. "All of ten seconds on the fancy new Manhattan job, and then straight on to relationship status. Because clearly, that's what really matters. That's where we were headed all along, wasn't it?"

"Life isn't all about work, Lorelai," Emily chided.

"No, but life also isn't all about finding the first available warm-blooded male and settling in for the long haul of living the suburban dream."

"Just because one doesn't need a man to make one's life complete, doesn't mean that it wouldn't be nice for Rory to have some companionship."

Rory sighed. Her grandmother would get no argument from her on that point. "I've just been really busy at work. It doesn't exactly leave much time for meeting people."

"There are worse things than for a young lady to meet a nice, career-minded young man at her place of employment."

"Dating a coworker?" Lorelai gave a skeptical look. "If pop culture has taught us anything, it's that the minute you start a workplace relationship, you lose all the sexual tension and ratings plummet."

"All I'm saying is that surely there are ways for you to meet people. I worry about you, all alone in a new city."

"I'm fine, Grandma, really," Rory insisted.

"Yeah, Mom, I don't think she's reached Tinder-level desperation quite yet." Lorelai winked at Rory from across the table.

Rory knew her mother was only trying to defend her, but felt it best to steer the conversation immediately away from online dating. She was definitely not up to explaining to Emily the significance of swiping right.

"I do have friends nearby," she offered. She wasn't necessarily in the habit of sharing her social life with her grandmother, and had grown accustomed to getting away with it while she lived two thousand miles away, but she chose to throw Emily a bone in an effort to change the subject.

As planned, Emily latched onto this kernel of information. "You have friends in the city?" she pressed.

"And in the surrounding area." Emily didn't have to know quite how far the perimeter extended, since Rory could actually count on one hand the number of friends she had nearby, even if nearby included as far out as Boston. "Actually, I'm meeting up with a friend later tonight."

"Oh, Rory, you should've said something. We didn't mean to keep you. You didn't have to come all the way out here."

Rory smiled. "I wouldn't have missed it," she assured. "It had been too long since I'd seen you. I only wish I could get out here more often."

"Don't feel that you have to stay, if you have a train to catch. It's already late," Emily worried, eyeing the large clock in the adjacent room.

"I'm staying for dessert, at the very least," Rory teased. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

"If you're sure." Emily looked decently placated, then gave Rory a smile. "So tell us, then - is it a man that you're meeting?"

"Come on, now. We're back here again? I'm getting dizzy," Lorelai complained.

Rory sighed, but didn't have the energy this time to try to curb her mother's chastising. She lamented, not for the first time, her role of being the only mediator for the evening. Since Luke hadn't been able to make it, the responsibilities of navigating the waters of dinner at the Gilmore residence fell squarely on her shoulders. She let her thoughts wander to the head of the table, opposite her grandmother. It had been nearly two years since Richard had passed. They'd all come to terms in their own ways, but since Rory hadn't been able to spend much time at her grandparents' house over the past several years, it was still strange for her to see his seat at the table conspicuously empty.

"Honestly, Lorelai," Emily was saying, "Just because you seemed perfectly content to live out your days like Greta Garbo, doesn't mean that Rory should have to do the same."

"I like people," Lorelai argued. "And I _did_ get married! Twice!"

With impeccable timing, the maid entered with dessert, and set plates in front of each of them.

"This looks amazing," Rory said, preparing to divert the conversation. "You know, I watched the Barefoot Contessa make three different types of flan the other day."

Mediator to the rescue.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Later that night, a cacophony of voices and music spilled onto the sidewalk as Rory pulled open the door to the bar. She slipped inside and didn't even bother looking for her friend; Lucy's tardiness was extremely reliable. As Rory stood in the doorway to survey the space, the music vied to drown out the sounds of the considerable crowd of patrons.

There were tables, booths, and several high-top bars comprising the seating area, but Rory decided to focus her attention first on ordering up a couple of drinks. She knew Lucy certainly wouldn't mind her taking the liberty. Spotting her opening in the crowd, she sidled up to the bar and waited patiently for one of the bartenders to notice her. Luckily, she didn't have to wait long.

"Hey there, cupcake." A bald man who looked to be in his early thirties leaned across the counter toward her, his substantial biceps bulging under his supported weight. "What can I do you for?"

"Two Manhattans, please, with extra cherries."

The man raised his eyebrows and leaned even closer, as far as the bar between them would allow. "I think you'll need some extra shots to go with those extra cherries. Don't you think, angel cake?"

"No, thank you," she replied curtly. "And stop calling me pastries."

The man chuckled, but pushed himself off the wooden bar top and went about making her drinks. When he slid them in front of her moments later, extra cherries and everything, he threw in a wink, and she narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're a little bit feisty, aren't you, sugar plum?"

She paid in full, not wanting to deal with an open tab which would necessitate another encounter with the man, who was ignoring other impatient customers in favor of continuing to watch her. Lucy could definitely get the next round.

Rory spotted a high-top cocktail table in a corner of the room against the street-facing window. She was about to resign herself to standing, when the couple in the adjacent booth began to show signs of stirring. She kept a watchful eye, and quickly swooped in to claim the booth just as they were leaving.

She got out her phone to text Lucy a clue about her location in the bar, and she couldn't ignore the notification indicating 42 new messages in her work email account. She opened the inbox and began to flip through them, assuring herself that it was just because she had some time to kill, and not because her idea of fun on a Friday night included finding out whether or not the _Daily News_ political editor had replied to her press release. She couldn't refrain, though, from the smile that broke out when she saw that he had.

"Whoa, you look happy!" Rory looked up from her phone and set it aside as Lucy approached and slid into the seat across from her.

"What's wrong with that?" she grinned.

"Absolutely nothing!" Lucy assured her. "Bless you," she muttered as Rory slid a Manhattan toward her across the table. "Believe me, if you're happy, I'm happy! From our phone call earlier this week, I just got the impression that you were in need of a friendly ear."

The reminder of the week she'd had was enough to dull Rory's smile. "You weren't wrong," she conceded.

"Sorry," Lucy winced.

"Let's not start there, though," Rory insisted. "How are _you_?"

"I'm great! I had an audition earlier today, and it went amazing. They said they'd be calling by Monday. The show is super crazy, you'd love it."

"That's awesome, congratulations! Keep me posted on the call-back. Where will it be playing?"

"HERE."

Rory tried to keep the surprise off her face as she glanced around the small bar. "Here? Wow, that's-"

"No, not _here_ ," Lucy laughed. "HERE - it's an arts center in SoHo." She shook her head in mock disappointment. "Newbies," she muttered.

"Actually, that reminds me. I could really use someone to show me the ropes around here. I've thought about hopping on one of those Big Bus Tours," she led, cracking a smile at Lucy's look of horror. "Unless of course, you think you could be up to the task?"

"Leave it to me," she insisted. "We'll have you running around the city like you own the place in no time."

"You are the expert, after all," Rory confirmed. "Still no regrets about not moving to San Francisco with Olivia?"

"Definitely not. New York City is my first love, and we plan to be together a long time. Besides, I feel like things are really happening for me here. My show last month was a smashing success - after paying my share of rent, I still had like dozens of dollars left."

"I remember, I read that review in the _Village Voice!_ It was a rave."

"Yes, what was the word they used again?" Lucy tapped her chin and pretended to consider. "Oh that's right - dazzling." She grinned. "But hey, now I think it's your turn. Tell me all about your fancy new gig and your glamorous new city life."

"Glamorous? Me? You're the one with a studio apartment in Chelsea, wowing the critics with your dazzling performances." Rory fished a cherry out of her glass and popped it in her mouth. "I live in Prospect Heights, and work in a boring old office building."

"Okay, so sometimes glamour is overrated. But I still want to hear about how things are going."

"Pretty well, overall. The project I'm working on is really exciting, and it's cool to get to be a part of something that has the potential to really make a positive impact. I'm actually really enjoying the job so far. Mostly."

"Mostly?" Lucy repeated.

"There's just this one guy."

"Ah," Lucy nodded and waggled her eyebrows. "Now we're getting to the good stuff."

"No. No good stuff. As if I didn't already feel self-conscious enough, starting a new job in a new city in a whole new industry, this guy has to go and question every single decision I make. He basically walks around like he's God's gift, and no one could possibly have any better ideas than his. He's been driving me insane!"

"Insane in the good way, right?"

"Definitely not in the good way." She drained the rest of her Manhattan and ate the last cherry.

Lucy looked her over with appraising eyes and a sly smile. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself? He's hot, right? Tell me he's hot."

Rory gestured to her empty glass. "I'm going to need another drink before we dive into this conversation." She slid out of the booth and grabbed both of their empty glasses. She decided another encounter with Cupcake over at the bar was worth it at that moment. She definitely needed more social lubricant before facing her friend's knowing smirk.

Unfortunately, by the time she returned with two more drinks, it didn't seem that Lucy had forgotten where they'd left off. "So," she cued. "You were telling me about Mr. Power Play."

"Let's not call him that. He'd love it."

Lucy laughed. "Okay. Well what's his name? I mean, I should know so that I can be prepared. As one of your best friends, I'm de facto required to hate the people you hate."

Rory cringed. "Hate is such a strong word. I don't hate him."

"I knew it! So, what's the story?"

Rory took a healthy sip and let the alcohol warm her throat and lower her inhibitions. She started at the beginning, when she had realized that Tristan had recommended her for the team, and she shamefully admitted how her insecurity had reared its ugly head and she'd ranted at him in the middle of the street.

"So then after that, he's showing up unannounced in my office and making annoying innuendos, and telling me that it's nice to see me again."

"Wait, what?" Lucy tried to interrupt, but Rory forged on.

"And then BAM!" She slapped her hand on the table for emphasis. "Zero to infuriating in twenty-four hours flat."

Lucy tried again to steer the conversation. "Let's go back a minute - nice to see you again?"

"On that first day, I really thought that we would be able to work together, and just forget about our stupid past. But then the next day, he was basically back to his old self. I thought that maybe he had matured since high school, but I guess some things never change."

"Excuse me, high school? I think you skipped some bits."

"Yeah. We went to high school together. Back then, he was all troubled-bad-boy, and he had this annoying habit of trying to ask me out."

Lucy's eyebrows shot up at that. "Is this like a Zack and Kelly thing?"

"Definitely not," Rory scoffed. "He was just kidding, he wasn't serious."

"Because there's nothing as amusing to a high school boy as consistent rejection?" Lucy asked, confused.

"He's just always liked to press people's buttons."

"If you say so. So nothing ever happened between you two?"

"Well…" She eyed Lucy, who was now leaning forward in her seat. "There was this one time when we kissed."

"You kissed him?"

"He kissed me," Rory corrected.

"And?"

"And, nothing. It didn't mean anything. We had each just been dumped, and we were at a party, and he kissed me. And then I cried."

"What?" Lucy gasped.

"I told you, we'd both just been dumped. I wasn't crying about the kiss, the kiss was… fine." Rory found herself conjuring up the memory and almost wishing she could remember more. She shook herself out of her thoughts and looked at Lucy, who was conspicuously quiet.

"Uh-huh. It was ' _fine_ '. Sure."

"This was all years ago, practically another lifetime," Rory insisted. "But now here we are - he's back in my life and still trying to get under my skin."

"Are you sure he's not just trying to get into your pants?" Lucy quipped.

Rory chose to ignore her. "And I thought high school was bad. Now, I actually have to work with him, and that means seeing him on a semi-regular basis, which also means that he apparently can't help but fight me at every turn."

"I'm sure you don't egg him on at all."

"Okay, okay," Rory sighed. "I may not be one hundred percent innocent. I always have liked a good verbal sparring." She felt her lips curving up in a smile, but quickly squashed that sentiment. "But seriously. We can't even agree on something as simple as a logo," she complained. "The creative department is probably going to kill us. They've been busting their butts for the past two weeks now, and we've probably looked at thirty different designs."

"Logos? Really? It sounds to me like you're not the only one who enjoys the verbal sparring. He's obviously just looking for ways to get your attention," Lucy teased.

Rory selectively ignored the latter half of her statement. "I know, right? He can't just leave things be! But anyway, we finally have it narrowed down to two - his top choice, and mine. But he makes it clear every chance he gets that my pick will end up in the campaign 'over his dead body'."

Lucy laughed at the deep-voiced impersonation. "Is this guy Optimus Prime?"

"He keeps arguing about how the audience is going to find this logo 'haughty and self-righteous'. I mean, who could get that just from looking at a logo? He's clearly projecting."

"And _you_ are stalling!" Lucy accused.

"What do you mean?"

"Let's go back to the all-important question you still haven't addressed - is he hot?"

The only answer Rory could give to that was to take another gulp of her drink, trying not to meet Lucy's eyes over the top of her glass.

"I knew it!" Lucy announced victoriously.

Another hour of girl talk called for a third cocktail, and by the time they were leaving the bar, Rory was feeling very pleasantly warm. She saw Lucy off in a cab heading uptown, and had a moment of envy for her friend's five block trip while she hailed another for her own long ride home.

Rory slid into the back seat of the cab and closed the door before she addressed the driver. "I'm going to Brooklyn, and I don't want to hear about it." She may be new to New York, but there were a few things she'd picked up pretty quickly.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Monday morning, Rory sat in a small, dark room next to Phil from the Market Research department. They watched from their seats as a group of 6 participants in the adjacent room were asked to provide feedback on two different campaign mock-ups.

From what Rory had gathered, focus groups were a delicate balance of sorts. The moderator had to maintain authority over the group and steer the conversation, while still appearing relatable and congenial enough for the participants to open up to. She was immensely glad that she hadn't been asked to run any of the groups, and could instead observe safely from a distance, behind the one-way mirror. She had to admit, it was a fascinating scene to watch.

On the other side of the glass, Tristan was lounging back in his chair, smiling at a comment from one of the group members. His legs were stretched out in front of him in the direction of the observation deck, which the participants were encouraged to think of only as a mirror. He wore a crisp, white button-down shirt, tucked into slate gray pants. His top two shirt buttons were undone. He'd removed his jacket and tie before the session began, to make himself appear more approachable to the participants.

He looked so effortlessly casual that if Rory hadn't been in the prep meeting the day before, she'd never have guessed at the amount of forethought that had gone into his appearance. She recalled his displeasure as he had stood impatiently in front of the mock-up presentation boards while Market Research staff members had held up to him shirts of various hues, trying to see what might clash with the campaign's color schemes. Looking at him now, as he stood to point at an element of one of the large poster boards, Rory couldn't argue with their fashion choices. The cool tones made his eyes pop, and she could see why some of the female participants - and one male, for that matter - seemed to be having a hard time focusing on the presentation materials.

"Thank you for the observation, Peter. You're saying that this logo elicits a sense of ease, or serenity," Tristan recapped. "You said that the background is out-of-focus and calming, which you've all agreed allows you to focus on the text. And Christina, you noticed that the warmer shades of green are reminiscent of nature."

Christina nodded. "It makes me think of a forest."

"What about you, Jonathan?" Tristan angled slightly toward a man at the end of the table, but was sure to keep his body language open to all of the participants. Jonathan had been quiet for several minutes, so Tristan called him out individually to draw him into the conversation. "What do you think about these observations?" Jonathan shifted forward in his seat, refocusing on the group.

"He sure knows what levers to pull for participant engagement, doesn't he?" Rory whispered, nodding her chin to indicate Tristan.

Phil looked up at her from his notes and gave half a shrug. "He's had some practice, I suppose."

"So he does these often, then?" She remembered one of the first meetings they'd had to plan these focus groups, and how it had seemed to be a given that Tristan would be one of the moderators.

"Sure. He has the background for it."

Rory furrowed her brow, wondering what that meant. But then she perked up and shifted her attention back to the other room, as Tristan was beginning to refocus the group and elicit their thoughts on the second logo in front of them.

"And what about Logo B? What are your thoughts on this one?"

She knew it must be killing him, given his outspokenly vehement opposition to said Logo B each day leading up to the focus group for the past week, but Tristan managed to pull off an appearance of complete neutrality. The participants considered the second logo for several beats, and Tristan continued. "Just like before, this is a conversation. There are no right or wrong answers here. Just go with your instincts."

"I don't like it."

Rory narrowed her eyes at Jonathan through the glass, knowing he couldn't see her.

"Okay. Any thoughts from anyone else?" Tristan prompted.

"I agree," Christina chimed in. "I don't like the background, in particular. Although," she hesitated and tilted her head, considering the display. "I guess I don't really like the font or the different color scheme, either."

Tristan was nodding. "Okay. Thank you for sharing. Anyone else?" He waited a couple of beats. "I appreciate the feedback. Remember, what we're really looking for is your gut reaction. When you look at Logo B, what do you think of? How does it make you feel?"

A man with dark, wavy hair spoke up. "The background image is kind of imposing, in a way. It's almost like it's throwing itself in my face, and it feels condescending. Like it's _trying_ to make me feel calm, but it has the opposite effect."

"Interesting observation," Tristan noted diplomatically.

"It's not just the background," Christina added. "This font is really dramatic in comparison to the other one. It seems pompous."

Tristan remained composed as he continued to field comments, and if Rory hadn't been watching him so closely, she would've missed the very subtle smirk he gave in the direction of the mirror. She sighed. She dutifully continued to take notes throughout the remainder of the session, though she was not looking forward to typing them up in a report that would confirm what Tristan had been telling her all week.

After the session, Rory and Phil waited in their observation room while Tristan escorted the participants out to the lobby of the 23rd floor to see them off. Phil detained her from an expedient getaway with questions about Friday's event, and by the time she opened the door to make her exit, she nearly ran into Tristan.

"Condescending and pompous." There was nothing subtle about his smirk now.

"Is that how you're going to start announcing yourself when you enter a room? I kind of like it."

He brushed past her into the room to retrieve his jacket and tie from the back of a chair. "What can I say? When I'm right, I'm right."

"At least you're humble," she muttered.

"What did I tell you the audience would say about Logo B? Next time, can we just save ourselves some time, and agree on the fact that I usually know what I'm talking about?" He slipped into his jacket and stuffed the tie into his pocket, following her into the hall and out into the lobby.

"I wouldn't go that far."

"It's okay, you can admit it. I won't hold it against you."

"I don't believe you, but fine. In matters pertaining to advertising, I guess you do, _sometimes_ , know what you're doing."

"Careful, that kind of flattery could really go to a guy's head."

"God forbid your ego become over-inflated."

He followed her into the elevator, which was uncharacteristically empty. "I can't wait to tell Creative that we finally have a confirmed campaign direction."

"Don't jump the gun," she warned. "You have to wait for the session reports."

"I think the results were pretty clear," he argued. "Besides, Creative could use the head start, since we're asking them to have everything ready by Friday."

"Thursday, actually. For the media kits."

"Thursday, then. When I told them last week that we were still undecided, they all looked like they wanted to punch me."

"Surely you're used to that look by now."

He shrugged it off. "I can handle Creative, but it's better to try to stay on their good side, when possible."

"That's some sage advice," she said. "Though ironic, coming from you."

"It can be a pain in the ass to try to overcome negative perceptions. Don't you think?"

"Uh, sure." She glanced back at him, confused. She had chosen not to say anything when he had begun to follow her down the hall, even though his office was in the opposite direction.

"I guess you probably don't know, do you?" He gave her an appraising once-over. "You've never made a bad impression in your life."

"That's not true," she argued. "There are people who don't like me."

He laughed. "You say that like it's a badge of honor. I don't buy it, though - I'll believe it when I see it."

"Well, there's you, for starters. Would you like a list of additional references?" she asked dryly.

Rory set her notebook on her desk and turned back to face Tristan just in time to see him about to lean his shoulder against the wall of her office.

"Hey!" She lunged for him, grabbing the sides of his jacket and pulling him toward her, and he stumbled against her. He looked down at her with a furrowed brow, but the surprise in his eyes was slowly replaced by something else. She could feel the warmth of his body, especially where her thumbs brushed against his torso underneath his suit jacket. It took her several moments longer than it should have to realize that she should let go of him. She then realized she was still standing so close that she was looking sharply up to hold his eyes, and she took a big step back.

"My plan." Her voice came out softer than she intended.

His lips curved slightly. "All you had to do was say..." He seemed to notice her pointing over his shoulder, and turned around.

"My project plan."

"I see." He cleared his throat.

On the whiteboard on her wall, Rory had meticulously drawn out an entire project plan for the campaign, complete with a detailed timeline. It was perfectly color coded, and though she planned to transfer it to her computer, she hadn't yet had a chance. It only existed in delicate dry-erase form.

"You almost obliterated weeks four through eight," she explained.

"Can't have that, can we?"

"Depends on how set you are on winning this account."

"We are _definitely_ winning this account."

"So, I'm curious. I know this campaign a big deal for Panoramic, because TerraSync would be a hefty chunk of business. But what's in it for you?"

Tristan crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"

"A couple weeks ago, after our first meeting with Jason, you said you had a lot on the line here."

He just looked at her for a couple of beats, but then shrugged. "The satisfaction of a job well done."

"My, how altruistic of you."

"I've worked with Jason a few times before. He's an admirable leader."

"Okay, fine." She held her hands up in surrender. "Don't tell me."

He didn't show any signs of moving while she moved around her desk to sit in her chair and face the accumulation of emails. "I like my job," he said slowly.

She looked up at him. "That's nice?"

"I like my job, and I'm really good at it," he continued. "Damn good, actually. But don't you sometimes think that maybe you could be doing something… different?"

Rory studied his face before she answered, but didn't detect any evidence that he was making fun of her. "Yeah. Sometimes, I do."

"Me too," he confided. "Sometimes."

"What does that have to do with this campaign?"

He considered her for a moment, but then turned toward the whiteboard again. "I like your project plan."

"That wasn't an answer."

"Nothing slips past you. Can you you send this to me?" He jerked his thumb toward the board.

"Sure." She sensed she wasn't going to get any more out of him at that moment. "I'll get it drawn up and send it over by the end of the day, along with my brief on Friday's lineup of events."

Tristan groaned. "Spare me, please."

"You don't like my briefs?"

Just like that, the amusement was back in his eyes and the gravity of their prior conversation was broken. "I wouldn't say that. Why don't you let me take a look, and then I can form an opinion."

Rory had quickly learned that if they wanted to get any work done, she had to ignore his attempts at diversion, so she powered through. "What was wrong with my last brief?"

"It was twelve pages. You can't call twelve pages a 'brief'. That's more like a robust."

"I like to be thorough."

"I hadn't noticed."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "We need to be on the same page about Friday."

"Point to a page, I'll be there."

"You better be."

"It's a dinner, not the Invasion of Normandy. It'll be fine."

She sighed and put her chin in her hands. "I hope so. This is my first fundraiser. Aside from the DAR, anyway."

" _You_ are in the DAR?"

"You _know_ the DAR?"

"Doesn't everyone?" he asked dryly.

"I guess sometimes I forget that you grew up in those circles."

"That's some selective memory you have there. You'll have to teach me one of these days how you do that."

"My membership is inactive. With the DAR, that is. It was a dark time."

"I can only imagine."

"Those fundraisers went okay, though." She bit her lip. "This one will, too, right?"

He shook his head. "I don't really do 'okay', and I don't think you do, either. As you may recall, I have some ideas in play for Friday, myself. My ideas don't turn out 'okay'."

She grinned in spite of herself. "Sure. Sliced bread, that was your idea too, right?"

"And with that, I'll leave you to finish working on your _brief_." He pulled his tie from his pocket and draped it around his neck, then closed the top two buttons on his shirt. "You'll be at the budget meeting later with Jason's team?"

She watched as he deftly knotted his tie, and she nodded when he raised his chin to showcase it for her approval. "I'll be there."

"See you then, Mary."


	4. More Than Just A Breeze

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television. Nor am I associated with HGTV.

 **AN:** Chapter title from _"Overboard"_ by Ingrid Michaelson.

 **Chapter 4 - More Than Just A Breeze**

Rory surveyed the event from the doorway of the kitchen. The hotel ballroom was spacious - in fact, that's why they'd picked it. They had thirty tables that night, with ten guests each, and they'd still managed to carve out plenty of room for the bar and a dance floor. Her team and Tristan's had worked together to come up with the guest list, and the result was a room full of some of the city's most influential people. A team of waiters began to brush past her with trays full of dessert, and Rory stepped back into the kitchen and out of their way.

Macy looked up from her laptop as Rory entered. "How's it looking out there, boss?"

Rory had commandeered one section of the stainless steel island countertop at the far end of the kitchen, as out-of-the-way as possible, to set up a command post of sorts for the evening. "Things seem to be going well. There aren't many people dancing yet, but it's still early."

Macy nodded. "I talked to one of the bartenders, and he said it's been a busy night."

"That's good for us. High quantities of alcohol can lead to looser wallets."

"And looser lips," Macy added. "Sophia and her team are making the rounds out there, trying to get feedback from the big wigs."

"A captive audience is always a good opportunity. And on that note, you'll have to excuse me." She smiled at Macy, and moved to one of the large refrigerators in the back of the kitchen, sliding out a single plate she'd requested from the pastry chef and had stashed there earlier.

She balanced the chilled plate on one hand and made her way out into the main event space. About half of the guests were beginning to reclaim their seats as the wait staff made the rounds with dessert, and the remaining half were still mingling and chatting. Rory spotted her target just as he was taking his seat, and she doled out polite smiles while she maneuvered her way through the crowd.

"Your dessert, sir," she announced cheekily, sliding his plate in front of him.

Hugo Gray turned to her in surprise. "Well if it isn't the belle of the ball."

Rory perched herself on the seat next to him and gave a gracious smile. "I don't know about that. Tonight I feel more like Cinderella, but before the fairy godmother arrived on scene."

"Where have you been holed up all evening?"

"I stole some space in the kitchen for a home base. No rest for the wicked."

"This is some shindig you've put together tonight. The food has been fantastic, although I never did see a crab puff." He made a show of looking around the room.

She laughed at the inside joke. "We wanted to keep things fresh, and opted to go light on the typical blue blood fare."

"Good choice. And thank you for the special delivery." He nodded to the plate she'd presented him.

"The main dessert tonight includes a chocolate-hazelnut ganache, and I didn't want your anaphylactic shock to ruin my event," she teased.

He nodded, amused. "And I appreciate that."

"I should get back behind the scenes, I just really wanted to say hi. Thank you so much for coming."

"It's been my pleasure," he assured. "And you know I would make up some platitude if that weren't true. It's a great event. I'm sure you have some things to attend to now, so you'll be able to read more about my thoughts tomorrow."

She brightened, and smiled down at him as she finished straightening her chair. "Really?"

"Of course. In case you hadn't noticed, TerraSync is kind of up-and-coming right now. You know me, I'm a hipster at heart." She answered his grin at another inside joke. "Where would that leave me in their club if I weren't among the first wave of enthusiasts?"

"They'd take away your card."

"I'm being buried with it," he insisted.

"I really appreciate it." She dropped the joke and gave him a heartfelt smile. "Thank you."

"Anytime. Now go get a drink, you deserve it."

"You have the best ideas." With a final wave, Rory made her retreat. As great as a drink sounded, she planned to hold off just a little longer. She had some final responsibilities pertaining to the evening's silent auction, and then she'd be in the clear.

She was stopped briefly by a older gentleman to exchange pleasantries, and once she explained who she was and her role with TerraSync, he was kind enough to tell her about the generous donation he planned to make. Over his shoulder, she spotted Tristan leaning back on his elbows against the bar, watching her. She returned her attention to the man in front of her, who was becoming somewhat overly affectionate as he tried to pull her in for a hug. She was able to disentangle herself discreetly and say her goodbyes.

She couldn't avoid passing by the bar on her path back to the kitchen, and Tristan fell into step with her. "Are you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?"

She gave him the type of look that he deserved for that comment. "I'm not Anna Nicole Smith."

"Good to know. But not the octogenarian. The other one."

"I don't have a boyfriend, let alone two."

He nodded toward Hugo's table with his chin. "Who's he?"

"That's Hugo Gray. He owns and operates one of the top online magazines in the city. Or, I guess, the country, for that matter." Tristan followed her through the swinging door into the kitchen and assumed a post at the end of the counter where her laptop sat along with Macy's.

"I don't remember his name on the guest list."

"I added him when I found out he'd be in town. Hugo and I go way back." Tristan frowned, and she somehow felt compelled to expand. "We were introduced years ago, when his online magazine was just starting to take off. I wrote for him for a while."

Her explanation was apparently sufficient, as Tristan's expression lightened. There was no sign of Macy, but there was a pink Post-It on Rory's laptop. The note indicated that Macy and Austin had already taken care of the auction bid sheets that Rory was going to collect, and they'd left them in the kitchen for her. The note failed to mention where they'd left them, however, and her initial glance around the room didn't reveal them.

"Speaking of the media," Tristan continued, "I saw you with the press line out front during the entrances tonight."

"And?" She didn't know what he was getting at, and was busy searching nearby countertops for the papers she needed.

"You seemed to do a good job with them."

She halted her efforts and turned back to face at him. "Oh."

"You handled them well. We had a great turnout tonight, better than Panoramic has typically managed in the past," he admitted. "I think they were there for you. They respect you. Hell, they even like you. That's not always a common combination."

She studied his face for a sign that he was being facetious, but didn't find one. If she didn't know any better, she might be inclined to think that what she saw on his face was, in fact, a bit of admiration. She must've let her studies drag on a little too long, because he didn't hesitate to jump back in with an impatient tone.

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to take a compliment?"

"Thank you," she ventured. She looked down at her hands on the countertop, and leaned against the island directly across from him. With a wry smile, she looked up to meet his eyes again, not fully prepared for him to be staring back so intently. It was disarming, so she took a deep breath. "Truth be told, dealing with the press is one of the only aspects of this job that I really feel comfortable with."

"Yeah, right," Tristan scoffed. He continued to look at Rory, and she wasn't sure what he could've gotten from her expression, but it wiped the sardonic smile off his face. "Wait, what?"

She shrugged. "Taking this job was kind of a big deal for me. I like to be prepared, but with this, I wasn't quite sure what I was getting myself into. It's a new industry."

"If you've been at all uncomfortable, you've sure hidden it well." His tone was not entirely subtle, and she could only imagine which of their interactions over the past several weeks was top-of-mind for him.

"The verbal flippancy thing is a bit of a defense mechanism, I guess. Is that what they call it?"

He laughed, an out-loud laugh which implied that he thought her statement was funnier than it should've been. "Yeah, I think that's what they call it," he confirmed.

She bristled at first, but for some reason his smile became infectious, and she grinned back at him for a moment. Then her phone buzzed, and she glanced down to see a text from Macy. She'd almost forgotten her hunt for the bid sheets.

She couldn't think of the bid sheets without giving due credit. "I guess I would be remiss if I didn't also thank you for your input tonight."

Tristan assumed her stance, leaning on the counter island against his flat palms. He looked at her expectantly, and then at her silence, cued her. "Are you going to, then?"

She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and blew out a breath. " _Thank you_ ," she enunciated. Then, with less sarcasm, she continued. "The trip to the HGTV Green Home was a pretty great steal for the silent auction. It was a good idea."

He nodded his head in what she was clearly meant to take as a humble manner, but his eyes gave him away. She decided that was a perfect time to refocus her attention on the bid sheets, and turned her back to him again while she went to reexamine the opposite counter. All she found on the bottom shelf were stacks of commercial sized baking sheets, and the top of the counter was clear.

She moved to her computer and skimmed her email messages, looking for any indication that perhaps someone else from her team had already stopped in to pick up the sheets and bring them to the emcee. When she came up empty, she lifted her laptop to check underneath, just in case.

"Are you looking for something?" Tristan asked. He hadn't moved from his post, still following her movements lazily with his eyes.

"Nope. What would give you that idea?"

She bent down to check the bottom shelf of the island, but again, found only cookware. The kitchen was a sea of stainless steel, so surely a stack of white papers should stick out. She chewed her lip as she surreptitiously took another look around. It couldn't hurt to check the drawers, she supposed, so she turned again toward the line of counters against the wall.

"Colder."

"What?" She spun back to Tristan, and saw his gaze fixed straight in front of him. Puzzled, she took a step toward him.

"Warmer." He still wasn't meeting her eyes, but was staring at something over her shoulder, so she turned to follow his line of sight. "Warmer," he confirmed.

He was looking at the top of the industrial-sized refrigerator near the corner of the room. She reached up to grope around for her papers, to Tristan's amusement, while he told her she was 'hot'. Unfortunately, even in heels, she could barely reach the top of the appliance. She stepped back to see if she could pinpoint the papers, and she saw them. She tried again, but she could only stretch so much, and they were just out of grasp.

"Need some help?"

"No, thank you. I've got it." Asking for help was very rarely her first choice in any scenario, but asking for help from present company was just not happening. She was a capable woman, and surely any minute now was going to come up with a better idea than a running jump.

"You're unbelievable," Tristan muttered, shaking his head. He moved around the island to her side.

"Thank you."

" _That_ wasn't a compliment." He reached up and effortlessly retrieved the small stack of papers, then handed them to her. She watched as he turned and left the kitchen without a backward glance, nearly bumping into Macy and Austin on his way out.

"Hey boss, are we good to go?" Macy asked with a look over her shoulder at Tristan's hasty exit. "The emcee is ready to announce the winners."

"We're ready," she confirmed. She headed to the door with papers in hand, brushing past Austin on the way. "You're too tall," she informed him curtly.

He clearly wasn't sure how to respond to that, but they both followed her out of the kitchen and then quickly through another door leading to the hallway outside the ballroom, in search of the emcee.

With the bid sheets safely delivered, the winners of the silent auction were announced, including Mr. Thomas Gafford, who'd won the evening's grand prize of a three-night stay at the new HGTV Green Home. After the announcements, Rory was pleased to see many of the guests up and dancing, while others stood near their tables or the bar, mingling and conversing.

With her work for the evening finally coming to a close, Rory snuck back out to the bar and ordered herself a cocktail. While she was waiting for it, Macy appeared at her side with a wide grin.

"Whoa, what's up? You look like a kid at Christmas. Well, you probably look like _you_ at Christmas, but you get the idea," she reasoned.

"You will too, when you hear this," Macy assured her. "I just talked to Derek, and he said we passed our fundraising goal for the evening."

"Really?"

Macy nodded, her eyes sparkling. "By almost _double_."

"Wow," Rory acknowledged, a bit surprised.

"We did it!"

She couldn't help but respond to Macy's enthusiasm, and Rory answered her grin with one of her own. "Congratulations! Thanks for all your work on this. Drinks are on me," she announced gallantly.

"Gee, thanks," Macy laughed, knowing full well that it was an open bar. "I left a drink back at a table. I just had to come find you and tell you the news."

"Thanks for that. Now get back out there and enjoy yourself, we're about done for the night."

Macy headed back to the other side of the room, and past where she'd been standing, Rory saw Tristan chatting with the bartender. He noticed her, and after just a couple more words to the bartender, he came to stand beside her.

He regarded her for a minute, and she just looked up at him. Then he held up his glass of amber liquid and smiled. "I think we blew the DAR out of the water."

She smiled back and toasted him with the Manhattan she'd just received. They held each other's eyes as they drank, and then with a wink, he turned to walk back to the other side of the bar.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Wednesday evening, the light was quickly draining from Rory's office while she put the finishing touches on a press release, then sent it off to a few members of her team for review before distribution. She leaned back in her chair with a contented sigh. The success of TerraSync's first fundraiser had upped the ante, and the fact that she thought things had been busy before just went to prove how little she really knew about what she'd gotten herself into. Friday's event had served its purpose in getting the campaign's legs under it, and now they were full speed ahead.

She stretched her arms out in front of her, then arched her back with a satisfying pop. Her couch would be a much more comfortable place to finish the last couple hours of work ahead of her. She wrapped up her charger cables and shoved them into her bag along with her laptop and a couple of select file folders she plucked from her drawer.

The late spring sun had begun to set, and there was noticeably less natural light on the first floor than there had been on the 25th. The surrounding high-rises blocked any remaining sunlight, and the dark made the late hour more apparent. Rory shifted her bag on her shoulder as she made her way through the revolving door and out onto the sidewalk, but then stopped short.

It was pouring. Rain pelted down in thick sheets and splattered onto the sidewalks, where puddles were already forming. She made her way to the edge of the dry concrete in front of her building, stopping just shy of where the awning gave way to open skies.

"Perfect. Just perfect," she grumbled. In the city, people probably knew better than to trust the local meteorologists when they said forecasts called for sunshine all week. "Last time I listen to them. God damn Bill Evans."

"Hasn't that guy been through enough?"

She spun around to face the intruder on what she'd thought was a solo pity party, then put a hand over her racing heart as if she could slow it. "Didn't we talk about you wearing a bell?"

Tristan ignored her. "In my experience, when I start talking to myself, it's a sign that I've spent an hour or five too many in the office."

"What are you still doing here?"

"Same as you, I suppose."

She brightened. "Please tell me you got ahold of Creative and they've finished the new ad for the California papers."

"I got ahold of Creative and they've _promised_ to finish the new ad for the California papers by tomorrow."

She gave a small noise of frustration. "That's what they said yesterday."

"This time I may have given them a little extra incentive."

"What might that have been?" A smile tugged at her lips as she thought about what kind of incentive was most likely to light a fire under certain members of that department, who were accustomed to doing things in their own sweet time.

"The less you know about that, the better off you'll be. Plausible deniability and all that." He winked at her, and she tore her eyes away before she could break out in an answering grin.

"Let's just hope the incentive works." She turned her attention back to contemplating the downpour in front of her.

"They'll get it done." His eyes remained focused on her while he opened the umbrella he'd been carrying at his side. "Are you waiting for something?"

"Nope." In fact, she was trying to decide whether to go back upstairs to finish her work and just hope the rain let up in the meantime. She wouldn't be too concerned about getting a good drenching if it weren't for the laptop and files she carried over her shoulder.

"You'll never catch a cab in this weather," Tristan said.

"I'm aware of that."

"Forget your umbrella?" he guessed.

"I'm fine."

"Where are you headed?"

"I said I'm fine."

"Suit yourself." She watched him start down the sidewalk, headed downtown. He didn't get more than ten yards before he turned sharply on his heel and began to stalk back toward her. She watched him clench his jaw and shake his head to himself. He stopped when he stood toe-to-toe, looming over her, and he fixed her with an icy glare. "Why do you always have to make everything so damn difficult?"

She held his eyes defiantly, determined not to be affected by his close proximity. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb, it doesn't suit you," he snarled. "You're not going to lose any points by accepting a little help now and then."

"I didn't hear an offer."

He raised his eyes to the sky and took a deep breath. When he looked down at her again, some of the tension in his jaw had dissipated. "Do you need an umbrella? We could share."

"No, thank you."

She had tried to keep her tone diplomatic, but that seemed to set him off again. He groaned and spun away from her, running his free hand along the back of his neck. He paced a few feet with his back to her, and when he returned, his mouth was in a hard line again. "Why do you insist on doing everything the hard way?"

"I can take care of myself!"

"I'm not arguing that! Has it occurred to you that rather than trying to take something away from you, I'm just trying to be nice?"

"No, not really."

"Why not?" he demanded.

"Because what's past is prologue."

He faltered. He narrowed his eyes, but the anger and frustration he'd radiated a moment before was quickly evaporating. "What did you say?"

"It means -"

"I know what it means. What makes you say that?"

Rory squirmed a little under his intense gaze. She'd been more comfortable with the anger; at least she knew how to respond. This seemed different. "This is what we do, you and I." She gestured in the space between them which, granted, wasn't much. "Your so-called nice gestures are just an attempt to see if you can get an amusing reaction from me."

"Is that really what you think?" He was now looking at her with incredulity.

"You've been doing it all along," she argued. "Ever since high school."

He narrowed his eyes as he considered her, and a chill crept back into her. When he finally answered, his tone was bitter. "I never thought you'd be one to take the lazy way out."

She bristled, regaining some of her ire. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Rather than set aside your apparently dearly beloved preconceived notions for just a minute, it seems that you'd rather fall back on decade-old, faulty judgments. If you would just put forth a modicum of effort, you might notice that perhaps _one_ of us has evolved at least a little since the tenth grade."

"Are you implying that _I_ haven't changed?"

He shook his head slowly. "Some things never change."

"You are such an oxymoron right now." She couldn't read his expression, but she put her analysis of his mercurial behavior tonight on the back burner. She couldn't help but get the sense that they'd begun talking in code, but there was one point which was clear, and it was one she couldn't argue with. "But you're right on one count."

"Is that so?" He looked at her expectantly, and she let the silence drag between them while she steeled herself for her response.

"I did forget my umbrella," she admitted slowly. She searched his eyes, wondering if he would read between the lines. She was willing to admit that she may have been holding onto a grudge and allowing that to affect her behavior around him, when in reality, he hadn't necessarily done much recently to warrant that type of reaction from her. But, there was quite a difference between being willing and being eager, so she was hoping he would take the look in her eyes over a verbal confession.

He considered her for a moment, and she almost thought she might be off the hook. Then he smirked. "You know, as apologies go, this one could use some work."

Of course he was going to make her say it. She sighed. "And I'm sorry," she added reluctantly, though not without the appropriate amount of contrition. "I've been told on occasion that I can be independent to a fault, and I'm not great at accepting help. And it's not like you've given me an abundance of reasons to trust you." She held up a hand at his impending interruption. " _But_ , I'll try to do a better job of letting bygones be bygones."

"That's a little better," he acknowledged. "Thank you."

He gave her a more genuine smile then, but she noted that his eyes remained guarded. He hadn't moved, and just stood staring down at her. His umbrella sheltered them both, and since they were only half under the awning, the rain had cascaded down the other side to form a semi-circle around Rory on the previously dry concrete.

"Are we going to stand here until we come up with something else to argue about, or are we going to slosh our way to the subway?"

"Between you and the Creative department, I think I might finally be argued out for the night." He reached out to cup her elbow and draw her even closer to him, and they turned to head downtown.

"Finished so soon? You'll need to work on your stamina if you expect to keep up with me." She had an urge to grab those words back as soon as they left her, but it was too late.

She was concentrating on the sidewalk in front of her, but didn't miss the flash of his blue eyes on her. "You don't have to worry about my stamina."

"I'm not worried," she assured him. He just smiled, and she shook her head, trying to steer them back on course. It wouldn't do either of them any good to continue down that road. "I mean, about the arguing. We seem to be pretty good at that."

He chuckled, but other than that, remained thankfully quiet. They huddled together under the umbrella, and Rory focused on keeping up with his long strides. As they crossed through an intersection and stepped back up onto the sidewalk, she felt him place a guiding hand on her lower back, steering her to the left. He leaned down to be heard over the traffic. "Where are you headed?"

Goosebumps spread across her skin despite the warm temperatures at the feel of his breath on her neck. "Union Square station."

"Good. Me too."

She remained quiet for the rest of their trek to the subway, and managed to convince herself that it wasn't just to avoid the unsettling sensation of his deep voice against her ear. As soon as they began to descend the stairs, she put a good arm's length between them while Tristan collapsed his umbrella and shook it off.

She turned to him at the bottom of the stairs. "So, thanks. For saving my laptop, and me, from a thorough dousing."

"Anytime."

She waited, but he apparently didn't have any cheeky comments to accompany the acknowledgement. She shifted under his continued gaze, and pulled out her phone to check the time. "Okay. My train will be here any second. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow?"

He looked up from his watch with the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. "You're on the Q?" She nodded her confirmation. "It seems you're not getting rid of me that easily."

"It sure is my lucky night."

Tristan just gave a wry smile as they queued up together while the train pulled up to the platform. It wasn't as crowded as the peak commuting hours, so they were able to embark and even find seats without much effort. Tristan took the seat to her right, and she quickly crossed her right leg over her left to create some space when she'd felt their thighs touch.

As the train jerked to a start, Rory's eyes were glued on the shoes of the person sitting across from her. She wasn't sure why she felt awkward. Her interactions with Tristan over the past several weeks had been peppered with jabs and occasional innuendos - he was an instigator - but they'd always been centered around work. Maybe if she pulled out her phone, she could avoid making small talk.

She was fishing in her bag for her cell when he interrupted. "Where are you headed tonight?"

"Home," she supplied shortly.

"SoHo?" he guessed. When she shook her head, he tried again, more unsure the second time. "Chinatown?"

She sighed and removed her hand from her bag, unable to locate her phone. "Prospect Heights."

"Well, howdy, neighbor."

She turned her head to look at him in disbelief. "You're kidding."

He frowned at her with a knit brow. "Why do you think that you can never take me seriously?"

"I just didn't figure you for a Brooklyn type of guy."

"Well I didn't figure _you_ for a Brooklyn type of girl," he countered. "Whatever that means."

"It's cost-effective," she reasoned. "I don't have my parents' trust fund to live off of."

"Neither do I."

"You didn't have a trust fund?" she asked in disbelief.

"I had one. Past tense. I don't anymore."

She tilted her head to contemplate him. "Interesting."

"Not really. Plus, I like being closer to Coney Island," he joked.

"I can't argue with that logic." She gave him a sidelong glance and made a mental note of how smoothly he'd changed the topic.

"Then I can't imagine you were a very relevant member of the debate team."

"I was never on a debate team."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," she said. "Unless you count one ill-fated C-SPAN thing with Paris… but that's best left swept under the rug."

"I knew it," Tristan smirked. "Girls like you are always on the debate team."

"You don't know what kind of girl I am," she admonished.

"I think I know at least a little. In case you haven't realized, you're not very hard to read."

"Prove it."

"Hm, let's see," he ran his hand along his jaw and smiled. "Raised in a loving home in a quiet neighborhood, until you outgrew the rigors, or lack thereof, of public education. You easily gained acceptance to an elite private school, where you worked hard for what you earned and excelled at everything you did. How am I doing so far?"

"Fine, except for the quiet neighborhood part. You clearly don't know Stars Hollow. But all of this has been well established. Continue."

"Come graduation, you had your pick of ivy-covered halls, but could soon be found sporting Yale Blue. You wrote for the paper, and probably rose to some level of authority or notoriety there."

"You jest, but I was actually involved in the first coup in the history of the _Yale Daily News_."

Tristan raised his eyebrows. "You were overturned?"

She shook her head. "Paris was. After that, I was the people's choice."

"That makes much more sense. So then after that, I'm betting that you had the opportunity to cover Obama all the way to the White House, and then you landed a desk at the Minneapolis Star Tribune." Her face must've portrayed her shock and confusion, because he laughed. "I've seen your resume," he reminded her.

"Fine," she sniffed. "Let's do you, then. You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, and it wasn't long before you discovered that the only way you could garner attention was to act out in semi-rebellious antics. While you didn't succeed in attracting the attention you so desired, you did manage to get pulled out of said elite private school. But that's okay, because the elite class has its advantages, and your youthful indiscretions didn't prevent you from having your own pick of prestigious institutions to attend disdainfully for another four years. And, because America's elite class favors those of the same cloth, you easily gained employment simply by stumbling into the office of a fellow Alpha Kappa Psi."

She paused to give him time to contradict her, but he appeared quite content, sitting beside her with his legs outstretched in front of him. "Come on, don't stop when we're getting to the good stuff."

"This isn't fair. You have me at a disadvantage. I haven't seen your resume."

"You got a couple things right," he granted.

"Where _did_ you go to school?"

"Feel free to keep guessing. You were almost on a roll."

"Columbia?" He shook his head. "Harvard?" Another shake, and this time she wrinkled her nose. "Princeton?"

"I'm allergic to ivy," he said wryly.

"East coast or west?"

"Time's up," he announced. "You're actually not very good at this. Let's talk about you some more."

"Who made you the keeper of the clock?"

"My game, my rules," he insisted. "So, why Minneapolis?"

She shrugged. "If it's good enough for Prince, it's good enough for me."

"Now there's a motto to live by. But really, why?"

"Because they were hiring. Believe it or not, my options weren't plentiful. It was 2008, remember?"

"Not really. I guess I was busy at the time, convincing people who still had disposable incomes that they could buy happiness."

She looked over at him, but he wasn't looking back. The hint of bitterness in his tone surprised her. "You've been in advertising for a while, then?"

"I bet you thought all this talent was just inborn."

She snorted inelegantly. Somehow, they managed to make it through the next twenty minutes of their train ride without bloodshed, even though Tristan remained intent on continuing their Q&A session. He was annoyingly good at dodging his turn at the answer part, though, and Rory spent a good deal of their time amusing him with college-aged anecdotes of Paris. They bonded over their shared concern that a regulatory agency had seen fit to deem Paris lawfully able to practice medicine on actual humans.

"This is my stop," she announced as the train began to slow.

"Mine too."

"You really weren't kidding about the neighbors thing, huh?"

"Don't hide your excitement on my account," he drawled sardonically.

"Sorry. It's just, what are the odds?" She grabbed a railing to pull herself to her feet as the train came to a stop, and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'm not planning to make a habit of dropping by to ask for a cup of sugar."

Tristan let her lead the way and followed behind her when she disembarked and made her way toward the stairs. The rain hadn't appeared to have let up at all during their journey, so he opened his umbrella as they reached the top and gestured with his chin for her to move closer. Rory switched her bag to her inside shoulder, both to make sure it remained dry and to put some extra distance between the two of them.

"I'm just a couple of blocks over." She pointed in the direction of her apartment. "I can make it on my own from here."

"No need." He shrugged, and she took that as indication that he was headed that way.

The sound of rain pelting off the umbrella overhead accompanied them as they crossed the street, before Rory broke the silence. "Have you lived here long?"

"Awhile," he hedged. "How are you liking your new place?"

"Stop doing that!"

"Doing what?"

"You keep weaseling your way out of answering my questions, and then you turn one back on me and expect me to answer. It's not fair."

He sighed. "I've lived here for three years. Happy?"

"Where did you live before that?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Not so fast. That was your answer, now I get one."

They were coming up on her apartment, so she didn't fight him on the point, knowing she could soon make her escape. "Fine. You get one more question, so make it good. And remember, turnabout's fair play."

"Have you been married?" he asked.

She was slightly taken aback by his question, and hesitated briefly. The questions they'd been exchanging had been fairly innocuous up until that point, but this was the most personal they'd gotten. She stopped walking, since they'd reached the steps leading up to her building. "I came close, once."

"Me too," he admitted, after a moment of silence.

Rory turned to look up at him, having to crane her neck to see his face. "How close?"

He shook his head. "Too close."

Rory didn't know what that meant, but the look on his face was enough to deter her, at least for the moment, from any further line of questioning. His eyes had darkened, and they were unfocused on the building behind her, as if he were looking through it rather than at it. He didn't appear inclined to elaborate.

"This is me," she announced unnecessarily, pointing at the building behind her. His gaze focused on her again, and the unrest she'd seen in his eyes just a moment ago melted away as quickly as it had appeared. "So thanks again, for the umbrella."

"Anytime, neighbor."

She started up the steps and turned to say goodbye over her shoulder, but instead she found herself nearly nose-to-nose with him. He'd followed her, and from her vantage point of one step up, they were the same height. "What are you doing?"

"Walking you to your door." He reached out to wrap his hand around her waist and turn her around, then prodded her forward on the steps. "I'm nothing if not a gentleman."

"Really? You think _that's_ the one thing you are?" She turned to face him again when they'd reached the top of the stairs, and saw his grin.

He stood looking down at her expectantly. "You have a counter-argument?"

Her eyes widened as she looked at him, her brain fumbling with the possibilities. "I have too many options," she explained with a laugh. "I can't pick one."

"It's okay, I'll wait."

She chuckled to herself as her mind offered ideas, and he continued to look down at her with what she could only assume was mock patience. While they stood there, though, she watched his demeanor shift before her eyes. His eyes grew darker again, and she wondered whether he might be thinking more about his 'close call'. This look seemed different though, if not only for the fact that his gaze was definitely focused on her this time. Unbidden, her thoughts went completely off the rails, and the main one vying for attention was that the two of them were perfectly posed in a classic interpretation of the do-I-invite-him-in stance. His Adam's apple bobbed, and she snapped out of her reverie.

"I'll have to get back to you on that," she blurted. She backed up a step so that her back was against the door of the building, and began to dig in her bag for her keys. "But thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow?"

She wished that last bit hadn't come out so much like a question, but it seemed that her words had their desired effect anyway. Tristan cleared his throat. "Yeah. See you tomorrow."

He waited until she'd pulled out her keys and stepped halfway through the door before he turned away. Rory waited, glued to the doorway, and watched while he descended the stairs and turned down the sidewalk, back in the direction they'd come from. When he was halfway down the block, she closed the door behind her and walked up to her apartment.

She opened the door and kicked off her shoes while tossing her keys into the dish on a side table. She popped a bowl of popcorn before settling onto the couch to resume the work she wanted to finish that night. While she was skimming her email messages, though, Tristan's name kept popping up. She couldn't help but reflect on the past half hour, and as she did, she grew more and more annoyed. She recalled how much information he seemed to have about her, and worse, how much more she'd willfully divulged without demanding reciprocation. It became clear that he was a master of the art of diversion.

Reminding herself that turnabout _was_ fair play, she decided that her work could wait a little while longer. She had some more pressing research to attend to.


	5. I Just Get Better With Time

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **AN:** This chapter is late. It's also a little long-ish, though, so there's that. Anyway - here's Chapter 5, title from _"Crush"_ by Gavin DeGraw.

 **Chapter 5 - I Just Get Better With Time**

Rory's team watched patiently as she paced back in forth in front of her whiteboard, chewing on the cap of her dry erase marker. Macy was twirling around in Rory's office chair, and Casey and Austin were perched in the two chairs in front of her desk.

"Have we considered something like a Jail 'n Bail?" Casey offered.

Rory turned to him. "Explain."

Macy jumped in instead, clapping her hands. "Yes! I haven't heard of anyone doing a Jail 'n Bail in years, so at least it would be kind of fresh. We did one back when I worked with Tsunami. Everyone loved it, and we raised a ton of money."

"What is it?" Rory asked. "I've never heard of that before."

"It's kind of like a game. Or a roleplay?" Casey looked to Macy to verify his attempts to explain the concept, and she nodded with a shrug. "People can pay to issue a fake arrest warrant for someone at the event. It can be for anything, usually there's a list of made-up crimes or infractions to choose from. Then the person who's arrested has to solicit other people to pay their bail to get them out of jail. All of these are really donations, of course."

"Interesting." Rory tapped the marker against her chin thoughtfully. "What does being in jail look like? And how do we tie the concept into the campaign?"

"Jail is whatever we want it to be. I've seen it where the person literally has to sit behind bars and use their cell phone to call for bail, but in our case, I think we want to encourage people to network at the event, so I'd recommend that we let them out on bond so the jailbirds can fraternize with the public."

Rory nodded at Casey, and turned to add the idea to the whiteboard. "There's still the matter of how we make that relevant to TerraSync. Anyone have any ideas on that?"

"Arrest warrants for environmental infractions?" Austin offered.

Macy nodded. "That could work. Or maybe we could partner with another agency and make it a joint fundraiser."

"Another environmental nonprofit, maybe?" Casey said. "Or maybe that's a conflict. How about just another organization that complements TerraSync's mission?"

"That could work," Rory acknowledged. "Thanks. Anything else to add to the list?" She pointed at the whiteboard, where they'd amassed about a dozen fundraising ideas during the course of their brainstorming session. "I think we've gotten a good start. This should be more than enough to take to TerraSync's team for now. But if you have anything to add, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Austin and Casey just stared at her, and Macy had resumed her spinning, with her eyes focused on the ceiling.

"Nothing but crickets from the peanut gallery?" Rory teased.

Macy stuck out her foot to stop her spinning. "My brain has nothing left to give."

"Okay, okay," Rory agreed. "Class dismissed. I'll let you all know how the meeting goes."

While her team filtered out of her office, Rory snapped a picture of the whiteboard with her phone. She unplugged her laptop and snatched it up, along with her notebook and pen, and took off for the conference room.

The TerraSync project implementation team had requested a meeting with Panoramic's campaign team. The meeting invite was actually a little cryptic, but the one thing they did say was that they'd be wanting to discuss some additional fundraising, so the brainstorm session with her team was Rory's effort to prepare herself as best she could, despite the last-minute nature of the meeting. The moment she stepped foot inside, she became immensely glad that she'd come prepared.

"Jason, hello. I wasn't expecting to see you today." She wiped any surprise from her face and replaced it with what she hoped was a warm smile.

"Hey, Rory." He stood from his chair while she crossed the room to greet him. He wore a dark grey suit with an emerald tie, and Rory had never noticed that his brown eyes had flecks of green in them. He returned her smile as he shook her hand. "It's good to see you again."

"It's great to see you, too," she added quickly. She didn't want him to think she was displeased that he was there. "I just thought you were traveling this week."

"I was. I'm back early." His expression said that he had a secret, and Rory cocked her head at him.

"You had said you wanted to be onsite with the client when phase one went live."

He smiled and nodded his confirmation. "I did say that."

Before he could expand any further, Tristan entered the room along with a few other members of Jason's team. She recognized Claire and Joey, two of TerraSync's internal Project Managers. She knew she'd seen the other redheaded girl in a previous budget meeting, but couldn't remember her name. If Tristan was at all surprised to see Jason, he didn't show it. He quickly shook Jason's hand and then took a seat across the table from Rory.

Of course she could trust Tristan to cut right to the chase. "What's up, Jason? You're not supposed to have to be here unless something's gone wrong."

Rory's eyes shot back to Jason in concern, but he was grinning. "Usually, you'd be correct. But in this case, I'm here because some things have gone very right."

"You have our attention."

"I spent last week traveling to several of the client's manufacturing sites, and I wasn't scheduled to be back in the city until early next week. I'm back earlier than expected because the phase one implementations went incredibly well. We finished ahead of schedule, and on budget."

Tristan's eyebrows raised appreciatively, but Rory remained confused. "So you're here to celebrate?"

"In a manner of speaking." Jason was clearly enjoying his secret so much that he wasn't interested in cutting the game short by being forthcoming.

The rest of Jason's team wore similar expressions. They traded glances and smirks around the table. Their faces showed varying levels of eagerness and excitement. The redheaded girl in particular looked like she was going to jump in at any moment if Jason didn't come out with it.

Rory's gaze drifted back to Tristan in time to see a light of understanding dawn. He grinned at Jason. "You want to expand."

Jason snapped his fingers and pointed at Tristan. "Bingo."

"That's really the only logical option at this point," Joey said. "What kind of project managers would we be if we started setting an expectation of beating both schedule _and_ budget?"

Claire answered his sarcasm dryly. "We do have a reputation to uphold."

"Based on the success we've had so far, on both the implementation side and the publicity side, I think we have an opportunity to expand our footprint," Jason explained. "We've already made a significant impression in the city as well as in California, thanks in no small part to Panoramic's work. I think we can do more. I'd like to expand the scope of the project."

Tristan was nodding, his contemplative expression shifting into pure eagerness. "Go big or go home, right?"

"Exactly," Jason agreed.

Despite the fact that she had no idea what she was getting herself into, Rory couldn't help but find their enthusiasm contagious. She looked between the two of them, both with a matching hunger in their eyes. She leaned forward in her seat. "So what's next?"

Jason's grin widened in appreciation, but it was the redhead who chimed in at that point. "As I'm sure you can imagine, expansion at this phase in the project will be no small undertaking."

"We're talking about making these additions to the scope within the existing timeline," Jason added.

The redhead laid out the facts with a shrug. "It won't come cheap."

Tristan leaned back in his chair. "That's why you sent the memo about additional fundraising."

Jason nodded. "What we need to know before we move any further with this is, can we pull this off? Could we raise what we need, in time to use it effectively?"

"How much?" Tristan asked.

"We have a Plan A, and a Plan B." At that moment, something clicked, and Rory's mind supplied the name Kate for the redhead. TerraSync's Finance Manager. "Plan A is preferred, and would add about $1.5 million to the plan," she continued. "Plan B would still be an impressive addition, and would only need $1 million."

Tristan stared up at the ceiling, apparently looking for answers, and he rubbed the back of his neck. "How long do we have before we need to pick a Plan?" he asked.

"We have until this meeting is over," Joey offered, and consulted the clock on the wall. "So, another 20 minutes."

Rory unlocked her phone and pulled up the photo she'd snapped of her whiteboard. There were some good ideas there, and that had only been the result of a last-minute, hour long brainstorm. With proper execution of just a few of her team's ideas, she knew they could raise the amount they needed. "We don't do second-best," she announced boldly. "Plan A it is."

Tristan gave her his patented half-smile that meant he found her amusing, but he steadily regarded her for several moments. Slowly, he nodded. "She's right. We can make it happen."

Jason beamed, and Joey and Claire high-fived each other over the table.

Kate kept them grounded, though she was smiling. "That's all well and good, but do you have any idea _how_ you're going to make it happen?"

Rory pulled out her phone again. "In fact, I have several."

Each one of them knew that they didn't have time to waste, so they spent the remainder of the meeting reviewing the fundraising ideas that Rory's team had brainstormed, vetting each one out loud. They narrowed down the options to a handful of finalists, and Tristan added his two cents about how each of the events would keep businesses and potential customer stakeholders engaged. When their 20 minutes were up, Rory felt slightly more confident that she hadn't yet written a check that TerraSync would never be able to cash. Regardless, it was going to be a busy few weeks. She was already itching to get back to her office and get the ball rolling.

"That's a wrap for today," Jason announced. "Will you send me a summary of what we've discussed?"

"Of course," Rory agreed. They all stood and began to gather their belongings.

"Thank you for your time today. Your input has been invaluable," Jason told them. "Unfortunately, I have to run. My next stop is across town, and I get to announce to the board what our new project plan looks like."

Tristan raised his eyebrows. "You haven't run Plan A past them yet?"

"Don't worry, they'll go for it," Jason assured. "I'm not blowing smoke when I say that your campaign results so far have been very impressive. It shouldn't be a hard sell to the board. I just needed to talk this through with you first, so they don't throw too much of a fit when I put the numbers in front of them."

"Let us know if you need anything else from us in the meantime." Tristan shook Jason's hand.

"Will do." He turned to Rory. "It's been a pleasure, as always, Ms. Gilmore," he said, gripping her hand in his. His warm smile had a calming effect, per usual. Rory was envious of his easy confidence.

Rory and Tristan walked Jason and his team to the elevator and said their goodbyes. When the doors closed, Tristan turned and considered her for a moment, then chuckled.

"What?" she demanded.

"We don't do second-best," he quoted with a grin.

"Damn straight. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a lot of work to get to. And you do too, if you hope to keep up."

"Don't worry," he scoffed. "I'll keep up just fine."

"Prove it."

"Yes, ma'am." With a mocking salute, he took off in the direction of his office. Rory started down the hallway in the opposite direction, but not without a backward glance. She found Tristan looking at her over his shoulder, and she caught his smile before she turned back toward her office.

Rory dumped her computer and notebook onto her desk and started dialing Macy's number before she even started up her laptop. "All hands on deck," she told Macy as soon as she answered.

Macy knew the drill, and didn't ask for any further details before she hung up to call the rest of Rory's team and relay the bat signal. They would convene in the small conference room at the end of the hall, per protocol. Rory took a few minutes to skim through her email for anything urgent she'd have to address before she sequestered herself for the rest of the day. After responding to just a couple of pressing messages, she grabbed her things once more, including her charger cable that time since there was no telling how long she'd be, and set off to join the rest of her team. She was going to need more coffee.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Six hours later, Macy was spinning in her chair again, and Rory finally reached over with her foot to bring it to a stop. "You're making me dizzy."

"It's how I shake the ideas loose," Macy argued.

Rory sighed and withdrew her foot from the chair. "Do you think you have any more brilliance left in there for today?"

Macy made a show of banging herself on the head, as if she had water in her ear. She frowned at Rory. "The reserves are pretty depleted."

"What about you two?" Rory asked, looking over to Casey and Austin.

Casey ran his fingers through his curly brown locks, perhaps his own version of shaking ideas loose, but apparently he came up with nothing. He shook his head.

"Have we considered a bake sale?" Austin suggested.

"We'll all do you a favor and pretend we didn't hear that," Rory granted with a laugh. "So that's a no from you, too. Lady and gents, I think it's time to call it a day."

"Are you sure?" Casey asked. "It's barely after five."

"It's been a productive day," she assured him. "We're in an okay spot right now. We already had our last couple of events in the production phases, so it's not like we're starting from square one. We laid some solid ground work today, and I have everything I need in order to assure Jason's team that we can meet the new budget goals. We have a lot of work ahead, but at this point, I'd rather we take a little time to recharge and come back when we're at our best."

Macy looked like she wanted to kiss Rory's feet. "Thanks, boss."

"Besides," Rory added, "I've got a date tonight. And I suggest you all follow my lead. All work and no play… You get the idea. I can tell you right now, it's going to be a long couple of weeks. So go have some fun while you can."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Austin stood and plucked up his computer. "I'll see you guys tomorrow."

"Do you want help with any of this?" Casey asked, gesturing to the Smartboard on the wall behind Rory, which they'd covered in notes.

"I've got it," Macy volunteered. "I'll send out the notes to everybody before I leave tonight."

Rory waited while Macy made sure the results of their marathon meeting were transferred from the board to her computer. They walked together out of the conference room, affectionately known as the 'fish bowl' due to the wall of glass facing the hallway, allowing anyone walking by to observe whatever meeting was taking place. They were at the opposite end of the building from Rory's office, and as they made their way through the halls, they passed Tristan. He gave her another salute as he passed her, and she rolled her eyes, wondering how long he was going to stick with that bit.

"So, you've got a hot date tonight, huh?" Macy prompted, drawing her attention back.

Rory hadn't realized that her eyes had followed Tristan's back as he continued down the hall, so she turned back to her friend with a laugh. "I don't know if I would classify it as such. I'm just getting drinks with a friend."

"Hm. I may have to call up the girls and see what I can pull together for tonight, considering that this may be the last time my social life sees the light of day for the foreseeable future."

"Why don't you join us?" Rory asked. "I'm meeting my friend Lucy at Ilili. Do you know it?"

"I pass it every day on my way home. I've been meaning to check it out. Are you sure I wouldn't be crashing?" Despite her words, Macy was grinning.

"Of course you wouldn't," Rory assured her. "Lucy is great, you'll like her. Why don't we leave together? I have a few things to wrap up, maybe thirty minutes?"

"Sounds great."

"I'll text you when I'm leaving, and I'll swing by your office."

"Later, boss!" Macy waved.

Rory plugged her computer back in at her desk and sank into her office chair to finish a couple of emails she'd begun drafting earlier that day. She was very much looking forward to leaving at a somewhat normal hour that evening, and rushed to finish her most pressing tasks within the thirty minute window she'd quoted to Macy. She scanned her inbox for anything that couldn't wait overnight, making a mental note to herself to send a memo about appropriate versus inappropriate usage of Outlook's "High Importance" marker. There were far too many little red exclamation points in her inbox. As she clicked through them, though, one of the subject lines actually made her breath catch. She clicked open the email and had next to zero time to try to process it before her office door slammed open and she jumped.

Tristan stood in her doorway, looking slightly out of breath and aggravated. "We may have a slight problem."

"No shit, Sherlock."

He strode into her office without being asked. "You saw?"

"Saw that the board of RJT Corporation made a not-so-subtle request for our presence at dinner tomorrow to 'discuss the future of the TerraSync campaign'?" She used air quotes to encapsulate the phrase staring at her from her Outlook inbox.

"Yeah. That."

"I saw. What does that mean?"

He shook his head with a grim expression. "No idea. If I had to guess, I would say they're a little freaked out after their conversation with Jason, and they're just looking for assurance that he can pull off this expansion, and that we can get him the money. Or…" He trailed off with a shrug.

Rory raised her eyebrows expectantly. "Or, what?"

He sighed. "Or, they could be thinking of moving the campaign to one of the bigger firms."

"They wouldn't do that, would they?"

He shrugged again. "They could. They might think that a bigger firm could offer more connections, and therefore less risk."

"But we've gotten them this far," she argued.

"It's not personal. It's business."

"Okay, Godfather. But that's not what I meant. They wouldn't switch to a different firm at such a crucial point in the project. Would they?"

"I don't think so." He looked her in the eye, and amended after a moment. "I hope not."

"You're not exactly inspiring confidence right now." Rory bit her lip while she read over again what little information the email had to offer. "Have you talked to Jason?"

He shook his head. "I called him, but it went straight to voicemail."

Rory cursed under her breath. As a force of habit, she reached up to smooth her hair back into the ponytail she'd thrown together hours ago. She read the email again, and took a deep breath. "All we know is that we have to meet with them tomorrow, and present a plan for getting TerraSync the support they need to get this done. That includes both financial support, and public and corporate buy-in. Are we ready for that?"

"It sounds like we don't have much of a choice," Tristan said. "So, yes."

She nodded resolutely. "Okay, then. It sounds like we have some work cut out for us. We'll just set aside a good chunk of time to - oh, shit."

"Quite the language tonight, Mary," Tristan chided.

She had pulled up her calendar to schedule another marathon working block for the following day for her team and Tristan's, but remembered that it was time that she didn't have. "I'm booked almost all day tomorrow. I have back-to-back meetings with vendors and venues, all over town."

Tristan groaned. "You're right. Me too. I have a fucking four-hour meeting with Creative."

"Now who needs to watch their language?"

"Did you hear the part about spending four hours with Creative?"

"Point taken," she conceded. She leaned back in her chair, looking at her clogged calendar for the following day. "We'll just have to get it done tonight," she decided, looking up at him.

"You're right."

"Why don't you go try Jason again?" she suggested. "I'll see if I can get ahold of Joey or Claire and find out what they know. Meet me back here, and we'll take it from there."

He nodded and turned to leave, but paused in her doorway to look back. "Sorry. It looks like you'll have to cancel your hot date."

Before she could form a response, he was gone. He was right, though. She was scheduled to meet Lucy in twenty minutes. She dialed Macy from her desk phone.

"Hey boss, you ready?" Macy answered.

Rory cringed a little. "I'm so sorry. Something's come up with the campaign, and I'm going to have to stay here and work on some things."

"Oh no. What happened? Do you want me to stay? What can I do?"

"No, no, it's fine. Tristan and I can handle everything, there's not much you could do at this point. All of our work this afternoon is really going to pay off, we just have a more escalated timeline than anticipated for getting everything in working order."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I'm sure. Although, there is one favor you could do me," Rory led.

"You name it."

"Lucy is already on her way to Ilili. Is there any chance you'd still like to go and meet her?"

She heard Macy scoff. "Are you kidding? You're calling that a favor?"

"It would be so great if you could. I would hate to stand her up."

"Of course, I'd love to. Getting a drink with a new friend and trying some sure-to-be-delicious Lebanese food. Man, you're really going to owe me one," Macy joked.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Rory rushed. "I'll text Lucy and let her know. Have fun for me."

"10-4, boss."

Rory hung up and immediately texted Lucy a profuse apology, and let her know that Macy would be standing in for their date. The next couple of calls she had to make had the potential to be much less pleasant, but she steeled herself and dialed anyway.

After getting Claire's voicemail, she spoke briefly with Joey, and was just hanging up when Tristan reappeared in her doorway. "Okay, thanks anyway," she told him. She nodded for Tristan to come in while she wrapped up the call. "Yeah, I'll keep you posted. Bye."

She shook her head at Tristan's raised eyebrow. "The board's dinner request was news to Joey. I didn't reach Claire, but if Joey doesn't know anything, I'd say it's a safe bet that she doesn't either."

"I got ahold of Jason," Tristan announced.

"Spill."

He took a seat in one of the chairs facing her desk, and leaned back. She noticed that he'd loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt. "Jason says the board just needs to hear our plan for supporting the new budget. They don't want to get into a situation of TerraSync promising more than they can deliver, and they _really_ don't want a situation in which RJT is expected to help bankroll the project from their own coffers."

"That's understandable, I guess." Rory chewed that over in her mind.

"Jason says it's no big deal. We just have to wine and dine them a little, and lay out our plan."

"Does Jason know that we don't yet _have_ a full plan?"

"I conveniently left that part out."

She nodded. "Wise choice. We pitch to the Board of Directors of a powerful corporation in about 24 hours, and have next to no idea what exactly we're pitching them. Best to keep that to ourselves for now."

"Don't worry about it. We have all night, we can do this," he assured. "Or, we can wing it, if that's the way the chips fall."

"Excuse me?" Rory drew herself up. "I think you may have me confused with you. I don't 'wing it'."

"Calm down, I'm kidding. Mostly." His lips twitched. "You worry too much, you know that?"

"I worry a normal amount, but in cases like this, I have to do your share of worrying, too."

"I'm not worried because I don't think we have a reason to be," he insisted. His teasing expression faded, becoming more sincere. "I trust Jason, and Jason says the board trusts us. We just have to lay out our plan for them."

"Not that your confidence now isn't inspiring," she remarked dryly, "But we won't get by on that alone. Before we can lay out our plan for the board, we have to actually _have_ a plan. We have a lot of work to do. Let's stop wasting time."

"I couldn't agree more."

"That's a first." She mumbled under her breath, but Tristan's grin indicated that he'd heard her anyway. Before she could stop him, he had launched himself from his chair, grabbed her laptop off her desk, and turned on his heel. "Hey! That's mine! Where are you going?"

She sprang to her feet to chase after him down the hall. She had a moment of irrational fear that if he opened her laptop, her search history would give away some of her secrets. Namely that she'd Googled _'Tristan Dugray'_ , and more recently, _'biggest donut NYC'_. That kind of search history was best kept to herself.

He spared her a quick look over his shoulder. "Look who's having trouble keeping up now."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX

Almost four hours later, Rory found herself trying to remember what the world was like outside the walls of the fish bowl. She pressed her palms to her forehead and then stretched her arms above her head and twisted, popping her back. When she saw Tristan's gaze on her, she self-consciously brought her arms back down and shifted in her seat.

"I think we've almost got this down." She reached across the table to pluck up the bag of M&Ms she'd found in her desk drawer on a foraging expedition, but was fairly sure it had been empty for the past hour. After verifying that sad fact, she tossed it listlessly back onto the tabletop and sighed. "You definitely ate more than your fair share of those," she accused.

"Did not." He took the empty wrapper, bunched it into a compact ball, and tossed it into the trash. "You're right though, I think we've thought through everything we'll need for tomorrow. We're pretty close."

"Let's just run through the pitch like it were a dry run, and make sure we have our ducks in a row for when we do the real deal tomorrow. And let's hurry it up, because I'm starving."

Tristan nodded resolutely and stood from his seat. Expecting him to begin his pitch, she reclined back into her chair, but then she watched as he came around the table to stand next to her and extended his hand. "Come on. Get up."

"Uh-uh." She shook her head. "This is your part of the show. Mine doesn't come until later."

"The show hasn't started yet. I find these surroundings unconducive to my best performance."

A smile tugged at her lips in reaction to the one he wore, but she fought it. "What do you propose?"

"I need to practice in a setting that's similar to the one I'll be expected to perform in tomorrow," he argued. "Plus, you're starving. I'm proposing we get some dinner."

She opened her mouth to argue, but before she could reply, her stomach growled audibly. Tristan grinned, knowing he'd won this round. She ignored the hand he still held out to her, but she pushed back her chair and stood. "Fine," she granted. "Lead the way."

They dispersed to their respective offices to pack up for the evening, and when Rory emerged into the lobby with her laptop in her bag over her shoulder, she found Tristan waiting by the elevator with his suit jacket draped over his arm. He'd rolled his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, and his tie stuck out from where he'd stuffed it into his jacket pocket. He smiled at her approach, and a familiar amused light danced in his eyes. "Shall we?"

That laden proposition, combined with his all-too-innocent-seeming smile, was definitely one that good girls were encouraged to shy away from. Despite all that, she followed him into the elevator, and then out onto the darkened streets. Tristan seemed to be a man on a mission. He didn't stop to think about where he was going, or heaven forbid, ask her where _she'd_ like to go. She had to pick up her pace to keep up with his long strides, but somehow it felt that she would be conceding something if she asked him to slow down.

Luckily for her, it only took a couple of blocks before he came to a stop and gestured to the restaurant before them. "Best Italian food in at least a ten-block radius," he announced.

She peered through the windows into a relatively small bistro. All the tables that she could see were full. "This looks like the type of place that would require a reservation. Plus, they look busy."

He brushed off her concern. "I come here all the time. They'll fit us in."

Apparently deciding that no further discussion was necessary, he pulled open the door and ushered her through. He skirted around her after closing the door and made his way up to the hostess at the podium in front of them. There were a handful of people hovering near the door, apparently waiting to be seated. Her stomach growled again while Tristan spoke to the hostess. Rory couldn't hear what they were saying over the low hum of conversations around her, but she saw the hostess smile and nod.

Another woman came into view from around the podium, holding menus, and gestured to them. "Mr. Dugray, if you'll follow me, please."

Rory glanced back at the other people, thinking that maybe she'd assumed wrong, and they weren't waiting for a table. More likely, they'd been forsaken by the hostess, who had succumbed to Tristan's charm. Rory followed the hostess toward the back of the restaurant, weaving through close-set tables. When they passed by a booth right as a gentleman was gesturing widely with his arms, Rory sidestepped quickly and almost threw herself off balance, but felt Tristan place a steadying hand on her arm from behind. She quickly regained her center, just in time to come to an abrupt stop as the hostess gestured at an empty corner booth. She took her seat and Tristan slid in across from her, his legs brushing briefly against hers before she resituated.

"Welcome to Farro," the hostess announced. "Thank you for joining us this evening. Here is our wine selection, Mr. Dugray." She handed a menu directly to Tristan. Before she could dole out their dinner menus, Tristan interrupted.

"We won't be needing those. We'll take two orders of the House Special."

Rory immediately bristled and opened her mouth to object to having words put in it, but before she could get anything in edgewise, the hostess spoke again.

"Very well. And would you like a minute with the wine menu?"

His eyes flitted across the page. "We'll each take a glass of the Silver Oak Alex Cab."

"No!" Rory interrupted, perhaps a bit more harshly than intended based on the hostess's startled reaction. She reached across to yank the list out of Tristan's hands. When faced with the foreign-seeming names, she realized belatedly that she knew nothing about wine, but it was too late to go back on her decision to take a stand. It irritated her that this woman had automatically handed the wine list to the man, and even more so that he'd already taken the liberty of ordering her dinner. She would at least choose her own drink, even if it was an arbitrary decision. "I'd like a glass of the Annabella Merlot instead, please." She smiled up at the hostess in an effort to compensate for her outburst.

The hostess blinked. "Very well, miss." Her gaze shifted back to Tristan. "I'll put in your orders right away."

Tristan's eyebrows were raised at her in a silent question.

"I'm a big girl," she grumbled. "I can order for myself."

"The House Special is, as the name would imply, the best thing on the menu. You won't regret it." He leaned back, settling into his seat. "I think you might regret that wine, though."

She rolled her eyes. "Because my choice couldn't possibly be as good as yours, right?"

"It's a matter of fact. Silver Oak makes a great Cab. Annabella, on the other hand, is not known for quality."

"When did you become an expert on wine?" she demanded.

He shrugged. "Probably around the same time you were hanging out in someone's garage, drinking Diet Coke." He used an over-emphasized Minnesota accent.

"I was only in Minneapolis for a few years," she argued. "I didn't adopt the entire Minnesotan culture."

"Admit it, though. At some point you did hang out in someone's garage."

"Being from Minnesota and being a redneck are so not the same thing. Minneapolis has gotten cool."

"If you say so."

She narrowed her eyes at his placating tone, but then sighed. "Let's just get to work, shall we?"

"I suppose. Lest I forget the eight surly gentlemen we have to impress tomorrow."

"Eight?" She wasn't sure what she'd expected, but eight sounded like an imposing number of people for what had been presented in the invitation as a semi-casual dinner.

Tristan nodded. "The total RJT board is twelve, but only eight are in town, so I guess we got off easy."

Rory had of course planned to do a little bit of research on each of the members before the dinner meeting, so that she could be prepared, but that research was peanuts compared to the meat and potatoes of the work that she and Tristan had been focused on for the past several hours. However, she supposed there was no time like the present to acquaint herself with the faces of the board she'd be breaking bread with in less than twenty-four hours.

She pulled up the meeting invitation on her phone and clicked to the attendees tab. Her eyes quickly scanned the short list of names, but then her mind came to a screeching halt near the bottom of the list. Her stomach sank, her throat went dry, and she could feel the blood draining from her face.

"What's wrong?"

She didn't pull her eyes away from her phone, though she could feel Tristan's gaze on her. Luckily, they were interrupted by the arrival of their drinks, giving her enough time to get herself together and regain her composure. She ignored the ice water that was set before her, and instead reached immediately for the wine, taking a big gulp. She made a valiant effort to hold back her grimace as she swallowed, but Tristan's satisfied chuckle proved that she needed a better poker face.

"That good, huh?" He made a show of swirling his own wine in the glass, before taking a sip and savoring it.

"It's fine," she insisted, taking another sip. Truth be told, she'd had wine from a box that tasted much better, but she wasn't ready to give him the satisfaction of being right. She was hoping that the alcohol would help calm her suddenly vivified nerves, and would take whatever she could get at that moment. She set her phone back on the table, face down and off to the side. Out of sight, out of mind.

Thankfully, Tristan was distracted from whatever he'd seen on her face when she saw who they'd be pitching to tomorrow, and she managed to refocus them on the task at hand. They recapped the overview of the fundraising and engagement plan they'd thrown together over the past four hours. Tristan asked if she had a piece of paper, which she handed him from her bag, and he pulled a pen from his inside jacket pocket.

"So first, I'll give them the overview of our upcoming events, and we'll review the ones that you and your team are still working on." He wrote _Fundraising_ on his piece of paper, followed by a bulleted list of the events that were already in the works with Panoramic, as well as the top picks from Rory's earlier brainstorm with her team. "Then, I'll explain the engagement tactics that my team is employing, both during the events and in between." He added _Engagement_ to his list, along with the list of tactics.

"And then I'll explain the relationships we've already developed with the media, and our strategies for continuing public engagement," Rory added. Tristan nodded and added to his list. "Including our plan to newsjack the governor's speech on sustainability on NYU's campus in a few weeks." She tapped his paper, indicating for him to add that point.

"And then we take a bow," Tristan concluded.

"And graciously accept their uproarious applause." She answered his grin with her own.

With their plan laid out, Tristan launched into a trial version of the presentation they'd give the board. She worked with him almost every day, and had come to learn over the course of just her first few weeks on the project that he was adept at his job, but she realized she may not have taken the time to appreciate just how passionate he was about the project. She leaned back in the booth, listening to him explain animatedly how his team would use a targeted approach to engage potential TerraSync clients and spread the project's mission. Sure, it was his job and all, but he was almost irritatingly good at selling himself. He oozed confidence, and it spread to her.

Their meals arrived right around the time that Tristan was transitioning the pitch to Rory for her portion, and by the time she finished her abbreviated, dry run presentation, her mouth was watering over the delicious smells emanating from their plates.

"So this is when I ask if they have any questions, and pray that I have corresponding answers," she concluded. "Oh, and the bowing, of course."

Tristan didn't say anything, he just sat there looking at her with the same self-satisfied smile he'd worn for almost her entire speech.

"Well?" she prompted.

"This is why I wasn't worried," he said simply. Then he nodded toward her plate. "Business adjourned. Now dig in, before it gets cold."

She didn't have to be told twice. As it turned out, the House Special was the most delicious thing she'd eaten in her life. Then again, her judgement could be skewed, since it was eleven at night and she hadn't eaten since noon, aside from less than half of a bag of peanut M&Ms. Conversation was sparse as they ate, and she cleared three quarters of her plate in a ravenous haze.

Tristan had been trying to send an email to Jason, but found it stuck in his Outbox due to insufficient cell service, so he excused himself to step outside. Rory took a pause from her entree, which was the first opportunity she had to realize that she was full. She took another sip of her wine, and grimaced again. She kept forgetting how bad it really was.

If she leaned just slightly, she could see Tristan through the windows of the restaurant, standing on the sidewalk just outside. She surreptitiously reached over to his wine glass and stole a small sip. Damn him, his was so much better. His attention was still on his phone as he pulled open the door and reentered the building, and she quickly shoved her own wine glass into place where his had been.

"Mission accomplished?" she asked innocently as he slid back into the booth.

"Yeah. Jason wanted us to let him know what our plan was, and knowing him, he could very well still be in the office."

"That's right," she remembered. "You really do know him. You said you've worked with him before, right?"

"A few times. RJT was one of the first accounts I got when I joined Panoramic."

"Really?" She'd had no idea.

He nodded. "It was luck of the draw, honestly. RJT was unhappy with their agency at the time, and they were shopping around, right around the time that I came on board."

"Was it your own pitch, or were you playing second fiddle back then?"

"It was mine." He smiled somewhat ruefully at the memory. "Actually, it was unsolicited. I'd run into Jason at a networking event. I knew who he was, but he didn't know me, so I may have purposefully been less than forthcoming about my line of work in favor of getting some intel on what RJT was looking for. Then the next day, I dropped his name to get an appointment."

"An appointment he didn't actually ask for?"

"You use what you can get."

"And Jason was okay with that, when he found out you'd used him?"

Tristan shrugged nonchalantly. "I was creative."

"Uh-huh, sure," she teased. Then her eyes widened slightly as he reached for his wine glass.

He took a sip, and at first, she thought based on his lack of reaction that she might get away with it. But then he calmly placed the glass in front of her and plucked the one she held out of her hand. "Nice try. Is the taste of independence not everything you'd thought it might be?"

She scowled, but defiantly took a sip of her drink anyway, holding his gaze. Tristan just chuckled.

"So how did you get so much information out of Jason at your first meeting, anyway?" she prompted.

"It's not like I interrogated him or anything."

"I know you have an uncanny ability to get people to share with you." She'd experienced that ability first-hand, during their rainy walk home last week.

"It's not a science," Tristan argued.

She raised her eyebrows at that. "Oh really? Interesting that you should say that. So you weren't studying him?"

"No," he said finally, after regarding her for a moment. He tried to shift the conversation. "He wasn't divulging trade secrets or the recipe for Bush's Baked Beans or anything."

"No, of course not. Just some information that was apparently useful in winning their advertising business."

"It was nothing big. We bonded a little over the fact that we went to the same college, and I may have maneuvered the conversation to my advantage. No big deal. We joke about it now."

"Sure," she teased. "Big-wig executives are all in the habit of spilling their corporation's hopes and dreams over a drink with a fellow alumnus, because 'Go Wildcats'."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and a moment too late, she realized she herself had divulged a bit too much. She reached for her wine again, but couldn't hide from his accusing gaze.

"I never said I was a Wildcat."

"No, you didn't."

"Then how do you know?"

She tried to counter. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "Maybe it was fun to watch you guess."

"So it wasn't because you were embarrassed?"

His eyebrows came together. "Why would I be embarrassed? It's a perfectly good school."

"Well, it's no Yale," she said with a coy smile.

"And thank God for that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing." He paused for a drink. "I'm sure Yale is a fine school. It just wasn't one of my options."

"It could've been. You're smart."

"Gee, thanks," he remarked dryly. He shook his head. "It wasn't on the table for me. My father was a Yale man. Along with his father before him, and his father before that."

"So why aren't you?"

"Because my father was a Yale man."

"Ah." She peered at him over the edge of her glass while she took a sip of her wine. "So I take it you're not close with your family?"

"I was close with my grandfather."

She didn't miss the use of the past tense, nor the darkening of his expression before he busied himself with the nearly empty plate in front of him. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Me too." He looked up to meet her eyes again. "About Richard, too." He must have noticed her look of surprise. "My grandfather was close with yours. I was at the funeral."

She tilted her head. "Really? I didn't see you there."

"I wouldn't have expected you to. There were a lot of people there."

"That's true." A small smile played on her lips at the memory, happy that she could look back on that day as a positive reminder of the lives that her grandfather's had touched.

They fell into a reflective silence for several moments, and Rory took another sip of her wine. Either the taste was growing on her, or her judgement was becoming impaired as the alcohol warmed the blood in her veins. Maybe both.

Their plates were cleared from the table, and after they declined dessert, their waitress dropped off their bill. Both Rory and Tristan reached for it at the same time, and their fingers met over the folder. They both drew back slightly, but then he reached out again to snatch it up.

"Sorry. Habit," he admitted. He slid his card into the folder.

"It's a business dinner," she reminded him.

"Then I'll just spare you the trouble of filling out the expense report."

The waitress picked up the folder to run their card, and they both drained the last of their wine. She could feel Tristan's eyes on her as she checked her phone, confirming that it was almost midnight. Her brain automatically began to calculate how much beauty rest she was likely to get that night, before they had to make their presentation.

Tristan interrupted her thoughts. "I'm sorry you had to cancel your hot date tonight."

She looked up at him in surprise. "What makes you think I had a date?"

"I heard you and that little blonde woman talking about it earlier."

"Macy," she supplied. "But it's fine. She actually went in my place." It was Tristan's turn to look confused, so she filled in the gaps. "My so-called hot date was to meet up with my friend Lucy. I sent Macy in my place, instead of standing her up."

The waitress dropped off the check for Tristan's signature, and he pulled his eyes away from hers. Once signed, they slid out of the booth and Rory led the way toward the door. They spilled out onto the street, into the warm humidity. Summer was upon them. They walked a few steps away from the restaurant, toward the end of the block, before Rory looked up at him.

"So, thanks for dinner," she ventured. "You were right. That was delicious."

"Even the wine?" he teased.

"What do I know? My drink of choice is apparently Diet Coke."

He smiled. "At least now you'll know better, for next time."

"Hindsight is 20/20," she agreed. Then she remembered. "Did you grab the outline you made for our pitch tomorrow?"

"I did."

She was relieved that he'd remembered it. She wanted to be able to refer to it tomorrow, when everything they'd worked on all night wasn't so fresh in her mind. "Can I have it?"

"I can type it up and email it to you."

"Or _I_ can type it up and email it to _you_ ," she argued. "Come on. I'll stick it in my purse, so it won't get lost."

"Don't worry about it. It's in good hands." She noticed him pat his breast pocket.

Without thinking, she reached deftly into his jacket and groped for his inside pocket. What she hadn't counted on was feeling the warmth and solidness of his muscles under her hand. This was dangerous territory, she realized too late. She felt his abdominal muscles contract under her fingers, and knew she had to get out quick. Abort, abort.

Her second mistake was that, in her shock, she looked up into his eyes while her hand was still exploring in foreign territory. She dipped into the pocket, plucked out the paper, and retreated. Meanwhile, she held his gaze, and watched as his eyes darkened infinitesimally.

She drew in a deep breath, which was unexpectedly necessary, and tried for a joke. "Now it's in better hands." She slid the paper into the bag over her shoulder. "I'll send it to you tonight."

"You're right, you will." His voice sounded thicker. He couldn't be that mad, could he? Then he gave her a half-smile and raised his eyebrow in a challenge.

She smiled back, and traced an X over her chest. "Cross my heart."

"I'll supervise. You can type it up on the subway." He placed a hand on her back and tried to urge her forward, across the street.

She resisted his forward movement, and he looked back at her. She'd forgotten about their shared subway ride. For reasons unbeknownst to her, she felt flushed, and her stomach fluttered nervously. She must be more anxious than she'd thought about the presentation.

"I, uh," she stammered. She pressed her lips together, and reached up to clutch her purse strap. Her fingers still felt the phantom warmth of his body heat. "I actually have to run back to the office quickly. I forgot a file that I need tonight."

"It's almost midnight," he pointed out. "Whatever it is, it can wait until morning."

She shook her head, grasping at straws. "I don't have time to stop by the office in the morning before I'm due to meet with a potential event venue. I need that file."

It wouldn't have been a lie, except for the fact that she knew that the electronic version of the file she needed for the venue meeting was saved to her desktop. She felt an inexplicable urge to end her evening with Tristan before they embarked on a shared subway, which would bring them closer to her apartment. Tristan simply stood there and studied her face for a moment before he acquiesced. "Okay. Would you like me to come to the office with you?"

"No," she said quickly. "That's okay. I'll be fine by myself."

He nodded slowly. "Alright. If you're sure."

"I am."

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

She nodded, trying to hide her relief. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

"Goodnight, Rory." He raised his hand in parting, and she watched his back as he crossed the street.

She sighed and began walking slowly in the opposite direction. She had no intention of actually picking anything up from her office, but it wouldn't be a bad place to kill some time. About ten minutes should be enough time to ensure that she could catch the next train, and not have to sit next to Tristan while she still remembered the way his body felt under her touch. Perhaps it would also be enough time to figure out why that memory posed such an issue for her.


	6. Evolving is the Glory of a Boy

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television. Nor am I associated with HGTV.

 **AN:** I'm just going to leave this right here…

Chapter title from " _You And I Both"_ , Jason Mraz

 **Chapter 6 - Evolving is the Glory of a Boy**

"What is up with you?"

Rory nearly jumped out of her skin when Tristan broke the silence that had stretched between them for the past seven minutes. She slipped her phone back into her bag. "What do you mean?"

"That's the fifteenth time you've checked your phone." He laid his hand on her knee, which had been bouncing up and down, effectively making her go still. She didn't even breathe until he removed it. "We've got this," he assured, his voice low. "Don't be nervous."

If he only knew. She glanced again toward the doors of the restaurant. "I'm fine. I just wish they weren't late."

" _We're_ early," he reminded her. "They still have a few minutes."

"I'm ready to get this over with."

He tilted his head to get a good look at her, and she smoothed her clammy palms down her pencil skirt, avoiding his gaze. "You really are nervous, aren't you?"

His voice held a hint of surprise, and she glared at him. "You don't have to rub it in."

He opened his mouth to reply, but before they could work up into a nice, distracting argument, Rory caught the door to the restaurant opening in her peripheral vision. Her breath caught and she stiffened, which didn't escape Tristan's notice, but then he was standing and heading over to greet the members of RJT's Board of Directors as they filtered through the door. She had no choice but to follow, so she steeled herself and rose slowly from the lobby bench.

Tristan was greeting each member individually, and Rory followed suit, starting with a portly man sporting a suit that gaped ever-so-slightly around his midsection. He had a receding hairline and warm, brown eyes that she found and held while she shook his hand. It was taking monumental will to keep her attention focused directly in front of her, but the man's smile was genuine, and she was grateful for the calming effect on her nerves. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Connell."

"Please, call me Ken."

She found that she was able to return his smile with ease, and then could turn to greet the rest of the board. She put her mind to work with matching faces to names, though of course she'd already done reconnaissance via LinkedIn and would likely have been able to pick out each person in a lineup. Her nerves had given way to determined resignation by the time she caught up to Tristan greeting the final member.

Tristan was gripping the hand of a tall man with broad shoulders and blond hair. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Huntzberger."

"Likewise, Mr. Dugray." Even before he'd released Tristan's hand, his gaze had found Rory, and she forced herself to stand tall.

She pasted on what she hoped could pass for a smile and extended her hand. "Mr. Huntzberger," she greeted cordially.

"Rory," he acknowledged. "Good seeing you again."

She couldn't miss Tristan's sharp look of surprise, though before he had time for any further reaction, Ken Connell had joined them. The board members had formed a loose circle around them, causing a blockage in the middle of the restaurant lobby.

"Mitchum, you know our Miss Gilmore, here?" Ken questioned, clapping the other man on the back.

"Rory used to date my son."

She felt heat rise to her face, and couldn't decide whether she was more embarrassed or indignant. Rory had worked for him, after all, and he could have referenced their professional relationship rather than their personal one, in deference to their current circumstance. Of course, then he may also be inclined to mention that he'd fired Rory, and she was sure that wasn't the way to put her best foot forward, either. She was certain that all eyes were on her, but was saved from having to come up with a reply when the group was infiltrated by a hostess who interrupted to show them to their table.

They were led through the restaurant to a private room in the back with a large, round table, and after they'd taken their seats, Rory found herself brushing elbows with Mitchum on her left and Tristan on her right. Her throat suddenly felt dry, her nerves returning, and she took a careful sip of the ice water that was waiting in front of her.

The group made polite, prerequisite chatter as they settled in. Rory focused on Ken Connell, who sat on the other side of Mitchum, and Vivenne Lee, who sat next to him. Vivenne was the only other woman in the group. She trudged through various niceties on auto-pilot and heard Tristan doing the same, engaging his side of the table. He discretely placed a hand on her knee again under the table, a brief moment of pressure before he was gone, and she took the cue to cease her fidgeting.

Conversation lulled as a waitress delivered their entrees, and Rory knocked back more ice water. She'd managed to make the bare minimum required small talk with Mitchum, but she should have known that her luck would run out.

"So, Rory," he began. "The last I heard, you were on your way to becoming the next Ezra Klein. What brings you to the world of corporate PR?"

His question was innocent enough to an unwitting observer, but there was an unmistakable smugness in his tone. Then again, that was probably just the way that Mitchum Huntzberger went about his day. Nonetheless, given their history and Rory's pre-existing insecurities, her winding career path was the last topic she wanted to address. She was all too aware of the seconds ticking by, though, and she needed to give him some kind of answer, so she steered them back to the purpose of the dinner.

"Janet Carlson introduced me to the TerraSync project, and I'm glad she did. We've been able to make a pretty significant impact so far, and we're looking forward to sharing our plan for moving forward."

The rest of the table seemed to still be distracted, and not engaged in their conversation. Mitchum kept his voice low. "Interesting," he acknowledged. "You know, I have contacts at the StarTribune, and I'd heard they were trimming some fat."

She used the pretense of taking another sip of water as an excuse to break eye contact. She hated Mitchum's ability to make her feel small and insignificant. Intellectually, she knew that the StarTribune's hefty budget cuts were not merely ' _fat'_ , and that being caught up in a sixth round of layoffs was nothing to be ashamed of. But that did nothing to alleviate her tension, and she struggled with a retort.

"How's business going, Mr. Huntzberger?"

Rory looked up in surprise at Tristan's interjection. She hadn't known that Tristan would be familiar with Mitchum's business. He'd only become a board member at RJT a couple of years ago, according to Rory's research, after stepping back as CEO of his own company and retreating to a Vice Chair position there, as well. Most of her preparation had focused on RJT, but she had been intrigued to see that he would give up control of his company.

Tristan wasn't done. "It was a shame to hear about last quarter's financial results. Times are tough."

Mitchum's expression darkened as he shifted his attention to Tristan. "Are you a shareholder?"

Tristan shrugged. "Not anymore." Then he cleared his throat and turned to face the rest of the table, raising his voice to be heard. "Shall we get started? Ms. Gilmore and I would be happy to share with you our plans for supporting the expansion of the TerraSync pilot."

The rest of the board seemed to look to Ken, who spoke for the group. "And we're looking forward to hearing it."

Tristan launched into the presentation they'd rehearsed the night before, and Rory was able to focus her attention on his pitch. He leaned forward and gestured with his hands, simultaneously exhibiting his passion for the project and his patented cool confidence. Rory felt a pang of jealousy for how effortless he made it look. Normally she wouldn't be quite as worked up as her cue drew near, but she was still off-balance with Mitchum sitting 6 inches away.

Nevertheless, she seamlessly jumped in to take over when Tristan passed the baton for her to explain Panoramic's approach to media engagement and their plans for fundraising. When she finished, she looked back to Ken, but couldn't read his expression. She glanced at Tristan. Had they done okay?

"This all sounds well and good." Rory reluctantly turned to Mitchum as he spoke. "But the fact remains that Jason's pet project is a significant undertaking that requires significant capital, especially with the new proposed expansion. We need to be sure that Panoramic can raise sufficient funds, and that RJT won't need to provide a last-minute bailout to make up the difference."

Rory had already opened her mouth to reply, but Ken saved her from saying anything in the heat of the moment that she might regret.

"He's right," Ken acknowledged. "Thank you for presenting your plans. While I must say it sounds impressive, we do still have some concerns. We've been working with Panorama for some time, but never on a venture of this magnitude. We need assurance that we're making the right advertising and PR investment. Panorama isn't exactly one of the kings of the industry, and we haven't put our relationship to a test of this degree."

Rory felt blood draining from her face. She was able to think back fondly on memories of thirty seconds ago, when she'd thought that Mitchum was just being a jerk, but Ken had just corroborated. It sounded like they really were considering moving the campaign to one of the bigger agencies.

"Our teams at Panorama have been working diligently on behalf of TerraSync, and part of what has made an expansion possible is the fact that we've already exceeded our fundraising goals," she insisted.

Ken conceded her point with a nod of his head. "That's true, and I do admit, we've been very pleased with your results so far. But can you honestly tell me that Panorama will be able to _build_ on the publicity and engagement you've already delivered? We don't mean to be difficult, but as I'm sure you understand, we need to be confident in this endeavor. The fact remains that Panorama has fewer resources than a larger firm. What do we get with Panorama have that we couldn't get if we moved TerraSync to, say, Ogilvy?"

"You get us."

Rory had been ready to take that question herself, but she looked over to Tristan in surprise.

"Have you picked up a newspaper lately?" he continued. Tristan was leaning forward, his forearms resting on the table. "Rory and her team are already delivering _consistent_ coverage of TerraSync, and not just spin-doctor bullshit on page 5 of the Arts and Leisure section. She's getting you hard news coverage. Do you realize what it takes to achieve that? She has been networking the hell out of this city, developing relationships with every publication in the tri-state area. I've been in this industry awhile, and I can tell you, the kind of results you're seeing are not ordinary. Go ahead, work with Ogilvy for the next 4 months, and see if you can get from them the caliber of work that Rory has delivered in the past month. And don't get your hopes up."

Rory was stunned, and she knew that her face probably showed it, but she didn't care. She stared at Tristan, and only when he flicked his gaze to her did she snap out of it.

She turned to face Ken directly. "We can get you the fundraising you need. I think you know that, too, and I don't think you're giving us the full story. What else can we address for you?"

She'd been very polite, but Ken blinked in surprise at her bluntness, and hesitated before answering. "We just need to know that we're giving TerraSync the best chances at a full launch as a subsidiary at the end of this pilot."

"Well, I know you've just heard Tristan discuss his team's plans for generating corporate buy-in. But there's some information he didn't share with you, because we're technically not allowed, but I'm the newbie here, so I'll take the fall. Of course nothing is concrete, since companies won't have the option of working with TerraSync until after the pilot, but Tristan has already garnered over $55 million in interest." She paused, enjoying the surprised look on Ken's face but also risking another glance at Tristan to see if he was going to shut her down. She really wasn't supposed to be talking about this, since results couldn't be guaranteed until everything was in writing. He didn't stop her, so she continued. "Tristan brings invaluable and irreplaceable expertise to this campaign, with his background in psychology and emphasis in environment and society."

At that, it was Tristan's turn to look surprised at the realization that she'd done some research of her own. He looked like he was about to interrupt, so Rory pressed on. "He's won 6 ADDYs in the past 4 years, which is a record that will be tough for anyone to beat, even at Ogilvy. Tristan is brilliant at what he does, and you need him to be running this campaign."

Feeling suddenly shy at the end of her speech, Rory kept her focus on Ken, despite the fact that she could feel Tristan's eyes on her. Ken was rubbing his chin contemplatively, and the rest of the board members were quiet. Their plates had been cleared, and Rory reached again for a sip of her water, nearly flinching at the tension while she waited for a response.

Ken stood abruptly and came around the table to extend his hand to Rory. "Thank you, Ms. Gilmore, Mr. Dugray." He nodded at Tristan. Rory's heart was in her throat. Had she blown it? Was this it? He was walking out?

"You've given us everything we need. We'll convene with the rest of the board who couldn't be here tonight, but I feel confident in considering this matter closed." Rory hung on every word, not sure she wanted to hear this, but Ken continued anyway. "We're looking forward to what Panorama will continue to deliver throughout the next few months."

Tristan grinned and shook Ken's hand. Rory felt some of the tension drain from her body as the rest of the board made their way from their private room to the lobby, with Rory trailing behind. Relief washed over her. They'd done it!

Farewells played out in the lobby, and Rory was so relieved that the evening was over that she didn't even mind extending the platitude to Mitchum that she looked forward to working together. She and Tristan hung back while the rest of the board filed out the door, stepping back into an alcove to stay out of the way of the flow of foot traffic. She waited a couple of beats after everyone had left before turning to look up at Tristan. "We did it?"

"Of course we did."

"Come on, you can admit it." She poked him in the chest for emphasis. "Ken had us going there for a minute."

"I wasn't worried," Tristan insisted. "We're the best team for the job. They know that. They just needed a little song and dance, for us to sell ourselves."

She studied him in the dim ambient lighting. "Did you mean what you said to them?"

"Every word." He looked down at her. "Did you?"

Rory took time to reflect back on their pitch, now that she had the time to dissect the conversation. She wasn't necessarily inclined to use words like _brilliant_ to Tristan's face, but after working with him for the past month, she couldn't deny it. He was good. She nodded, and found her voice. "Yes."

He took a step closer, his hand coming to rest on her lower back, and he leaned down. Rory's heart stuttered, and she may have held her breath. "Don't worry," he spoke into her ear. "I won't tell anyone."

She looked up at him as he pulled away with that infuriating grin of his. Just like that, he reminded her that his self-esteem sure didn't need any help from her. She swatted him on the arm and pushed past him to reach the door. They spilled out together into a surprisingly warm night. Summer was around the corner.

Tristan pulled his phone from his jacket pocket. "I'm going to let Jason know how it went."

Rory nodded, and envied the way that Tristan didn't break his stride as his fingers flew across the screen. She hadn't yet mastered the Manhattan art of texting while sidewalk dodging. She pulled her own phone from her bag to see an alert indicating over 200 new email messages, and sighed. Her day had been filled with meetings all across town, and she hadn't had much time to dedicate to the other parts of her job that still demanded attention. She shoved the phone back in her bag, deciding to deal with that later.

"Chin up, Mary," Tristan cajoled. "We just won ourselves a campaign."

"According to you, we already had it, and were never in danger of losing it."

He shrugged. "Cause for celebration either way, I say." He took a couple of long strides to cut in front of her, forcing her to either stop or run into him.

"What are you doing?"

He gestured to the door beside him with an inclination of his head. "We're celebrating."

She could hear music emanating from the bar and she paused, but then recalled the emails that needed tending to, and shook her head. "No, thanks, I should be getting home."

Tristan gave her a pointed look. "You seem like you could use a drink."

She considered him a moment, and then sighed. "You're not wrong."

"I rarely am. Come on." He opened the door and waited for her to enter before following behind her.

The bar was eclectic, to put it nicely, or otherwise having an identity crisis. The long bar top was plastered with stickers over every square inch, and the walls were similarly covered in photos, posters, and knick knacks. She couldn't spot a single set of chairs that were the same. It was crowded, but not too crowded, and they made their way up to the bar.

Tristan ordered a Glenfiddich neat, and Rory called out the same for herself. While they were waiting for the bartender to pour, someone from behind her grabbed Rory's wrist and she spun, ready to defend herself, but stopped short.

"It _is_ her! Pay up!"

Rory found herself face to face with Colin McCrae, who was holding out his hand, palm up. Rather than pay up, Finn fell to one knee and made a sweeping gesture. "Rory Gilmore, as I live and breathe!"

"Hey Finn, hey Colin," she greeted. "Last I checked, you guys were in Istanbul"

"Checking up on us, love?" Finn picked himself up off the floor and made a move to put an arm around her shoulders, but she stepped back, bumping into Tristan, who held a whiskey in each hand.

"It's always best to know which direction the tornado is coming from," she said wryly.

Tristan stepped up beside her. "You know these guys?"

"Finn, Colin, this is Tristan," she introduced. "Tristan, this is Finn and that's Colin. We knew each other in college."

"Don't sell us short, love," Finn scandalized. "We've shared quite a history. I'll forever remember the long nights we spent together."

Rory rolled her eyes. "What brings you to the city?"

"This is home, for now," Colin revealed. "We're running a little operation in Midtown."

"What kind of operation?" Rory inquired, not sure whether she should be concerned.

"An institutional fixed income investment firm." That came from Finn, who, the last time she'd seen him, was too trashed to remember his name.

She raised her eyebrows. "Color me impressed."

Colin grinned. "Did you think our young Master Huntzberger was the only one with entrepreneurial predilections?"

"This coming from the guy whose 5-year plan never lasted longer than 24 hours," she teased. The last thing Rory wanted at that moment was to think any more about any Huntzberger. She looked over to Tristan, who was eyeing her over the rim of his glass.

Finn dug in his wallet and pulled out a card, which he extended to Rory. "Come see for yourself. Don't be a stranger." He looked pointedly at Tristan, then back to Rory. "We'll leave you to your evening."

Ordinarily she might feel bad for all but chasing them off, but Rory had had just about enough blasts from her past for one evening. Still, she smiled. "It's good to see you both. Maybe we can catch up soon."

Finn saluted her and Colin waved, and then they were gone, probably on to the next of what was sure to be many stops of the evening. Some things never changed.

Rather than wait for Tristan to comment, Rory led the way to a small booth near the back of the bar. Tristan slid in across from her and pushed her drink across the table. "So, the Huntzbergers, huh?"

"It's been a very 'Rory Gilmore, this is your life' type of day." She washed down her admission with a healthy gulp of whiskey, appreciating the way her chest warmed immediately.

"What's the story there?" he asked.

Leave it to Tristan to cut to the chase. She should've known that she wouldn't be so lucky as to sweep the encounter with Mitchum under the rug without an explanation. The run-in with Finn and Colin was the perfect ending to the most surreal day. And now, Tristan had settled into the booth to stare at her expectantly.

"Not much of a story," she hedged.

"Ah. So I was just imaging that you looked like you wanted to spit in Mitchum Huntzberger's vodka tonic?"

She cringed. "Was it that obvious?"

He considered. "Maybe not to everyone. You seemed to handle him well."

"Yeah, right." Rory shook her head. "You know how, in the heat of the moment, sometimes your mind goes blank and you can't think of the right thing to say, but then afterward, you can't stop thinking of what you _wish_ you'd said?"

"Can't say I've ever had that problem," Tristan admitted ruefully.

She gave him an ironic smile. "No, I suppose not. Consider yourself lucky."

"Not always. The flip side of that scenario is having to sit around wishing you could take back what you said in the heat of the moment." Tristan took another pull from his glass, not meeting her eyes.

She studied him until he looked back at her, and it was her turn to divert her gaze. She used her thumb to wipe an imaginary smudge off her whiskey glass. "So anyway, thank you for what _you_ said to Mitchum." She chanced a look back at him, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "Are you really a shareholder of his company?"

" _Was,_ past tense. I wasn't blowing smoke, I dropped stock as quickly as possible after their fourth quarter earnings report, and got out of there while I still could. His stock price speaks for itself, but I didn't realize the guy himself would be such an asshole."

She gave a rueful laugh. "Thank you for _that,_ too. He _is_ an asshole."

"Did things end that badly between you and his son?"

"No, nothing like that. Mitchum and I have our own complicated history, but it doesn't really have anything to do with Logan."

She sighed and took another sip of her drink. She was going to leave it at that, but Tristan let silence stretch between them, and she found herself supplying more. "Remember when you asked me if I'd been married?"

"You said you'd been close," he recounted. Then he raised his eyebrows and realization dawned. "Huntzberger?"

She nodded, pretending she was transfixed with her near-empty glass. She was going to need another drink at this rate. She couldn't believe she was sitting in a bar with Tristan Dugray, discussing Logan Huntzberger. What were the odds?

Rory shook herself out of it and settled back into the booth, mirroring Tristan's stance, her hands cradling her rocks glass. "So, now you know about my close call. It's your turn."

At that, Tristan held up his own empty glass. "Another?" he asked.

She agreed, and Rory watched him move gracefully through the growing crowd. She thought about digging her phone out to start sorting through those emails, but she couldn't muster up the motivation. Instead, she found her eyes lingering on Tristan, wondering when she'd missed him rolling up his shirtsleeves. He was leaning against the bar, braced on one forearm while he waited for the bartender's attention. Rory spied a pair of women further down the bar, one of them openly ogling Tristan before bending to whisper in her friend's ear, eliciting giggles from both.

Rory couldn't exactly blame them. He was playing to his strengths again, wearing a crisp white oxford tucked into heather grey pants. Even though he was facing away, Rory knew full well that the cool tones accentuated his blue eyes, making them sharp and piercing, like he could see through you. Even in the dim light of the restaurant, she couldn't have missed that. Tristan's shirt hugged his broad shoulders and tapered to his waist. She let her gaze move south to appreciate the way his perfectly tailored pants hung from his hips, and when he shifted, she nearly leaned out of the booth, trying to maintain a vantage point to admire his… But suddenly he'd turned, headed back to the booth, and she looked away so fast she could've given herself whiplash.

What was she doing, noticing Tristan's _assets_? She reminded herself forcefully that the way his pants fit was of no interest to her. She'd just been thrown off-balance, and really, who could blame her, after the night she'd had? Tristan set a fresh glass in front of her and she wasted no time in throwing back another sip, pushing away her conscience that was trying to remind her that more alcohol may not necessarily be a good thing in her current circumstance.

Tristan settled back into his seat, bumping knees with her under the table until she adjusted. "So how long has it been?"

She was glad she hadn't been drinking at that moment, because she would've done a spit take. Nonetheless, she sputtered a bit. "Excuse me?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and smirked, his eyes alight with amusement and something else. "I meant, how long since your 'close call' with Huntzberger?"

"Oh, that." She hated that her face felt flushed, and decided to turn the tables. "I think that's enough about me. Let's talk about you."

"What did you have in mind?"

"You've had a front-row seat to my past tonight. What about yours?"

"What about mine?"

"Tell me about your brush with marriage."

He set his drink down and leaned back. "Nothing to tell."

"Come on," she pried. "You said you came close. How close?"

"How close did you come with Huntzberger?"

Maybe it was the four fingers of whiskey, or maybe it was the determined look in Tristan's eyes as he stared at her, his arms crossed over his chest. She'd come to know him as a man who didn't give up easily, so she sighed. "He asked, and I said no. The end."

Tristan eyed her curiously. "Why?"

She bristled. "None of your business. Besides, we're not talking about me, we're talking about you."

"I'm not that interesting."

"Oh, and I am?" she scoffed.

He gave her his slow, lazy smile and appraised her. "You have no idea."

She felt her face flush. "Why don't you let me decide what's interesting and what's not?"

"I think we may find ourselves with differing opinions on that matter."

"It's not like we haven't been there before."

He snorted, then with another sidelong glance at her, he visibly resigned himself. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know about the 'almost marriage' girl." She really wasn't quite sure why she was pushing the matter, but chalked it up to her need to make him answer at least one of her damn questions. He'd started it, and now he knew about Logan, so it was only fair. "Tell me. How close did you get? Was there a ring?"

It was Tristan's turn to sigh, and he broke his gaze away from hers. "There was a ring."

"Did you give it to her?"

"Yes."

"Did she accept it?"

He glanced at his watch. "Are we going to play 20 Questions? It's getting late."

"Oh, sorry, how many more minutes until your stagecoach turns back into a pumpkin?"

"It's not me I'm worried about," he said. "Aren't I keeping you out past curfew?"

"I'm not a kid anymore."

His eyes flashed to hers. "Don't you worry. I noticed."

"Quit distracting me."

He grinned. "Is it working?"

"No," she lied. "Spit it out."

"She had the ring, she had the dress, there was a church, I was in a tux." Tristan had his elbow on the table, holding his head up with his knuckles, and was studying his nearly empty glass as if it held the secrets to the universe.

 _In_ a tux? That didn't escape her notice. Her curiosity was burning, but she gentled her voice. "Why didn't you make it past 'almost'?"

She was prepared for him to echo her earlier and tell her it was none of her business. Which it wasn't, not really. But after he drained his second glass of Glenfiddich, he shrugged. "It's a long story, I guess. If you ask her, it was a matter of timing."

"I'm asking you." She wasn't sure if she should have kept pushing, and she nearly held her breath. "What would you say?"

Again, she wasn't sure he was going to answer, but then, "It just wasn't the right fit."

Rory nodded. After that admission, she wasn't sure what to say in follow-up, and she felt that she owed him. "It was the same with me and Logan."

"I'm glad." He shifted, looking back at her, searching her face.

Rory's heartbeat stumbled, then raced to catch up. "Why's that?"

He was silent for a couple of beats too long, then grinned. "Mitchum Huntzberger as a father-in-law? Ouch."

She laughed, though it was a bit perfunctory. She was grateful for the excuse to look away, and with that, all of the chatter from the bar came rushing back in, breaking the tension that Rory had clearly just been imagining. She hadn't realized how effective she'd been at blocking out the noise around them, and as soon as she noticed, she heard her cell phone chime. She dug her phone out of her bag to see a text from Jason, addressed to both her and Tristan, congratulating and thanking them for the meeting with the board. As she swiped to close the notification, she also caught the time.

"Oh, wow." She hadn't necessarily meant to say it out loud, but Tristan was looking at her expectantly. "You were right, it is late."

"Shall we?" He nodded toward the door.

She agreed, and Tristan collected their glasses to deposit back on the bar top as they left. The bar had grown more crowded, and Rory hadn't realized how hot and stuffy it had become until she stepped out into a light breeze. She took a deep breath, and Tristan stepped out next to her.

"Nice night," he commented.

She glanced over at him, standing with one hand in his pocket and the other holding his jacket over his shoulder. His hair was just long enough that it had some movement in the wind, and she had a fleeting thought that she liked it better this way, not as close-cropped as he'd used to wear it.

"So," he continued, "Cab? You're not thinking about the subway, are you?"

She shook her head. Even with Tristan with her, it was too late for the subway. "No, cab is fine."

She fell into step with him as he began walking toward the end of the block. "Do you mind sharing?" he ventured.

She hesitated for a moment, but told herself she was being silly. It made sense, since they apparently only lived blocks apart. "No, that's fine."

Tristan angled them both toward the curb and held up his hand, transitioning into a rude gesture when an available taxi drove by without slowing. Rory stepped up with a grin, put a hand on his chest and moved him back. "Let me show you how it's done."

"What, are you gonna show some leg?"

"Why, are you going to complain?" She looked at him over her shoulder, and couldn't deny that she was pleased to note that although he looked surprised, his eyes were alight with interest. "Just watch and see how it's done."

When she spotted the next available cab, Rory waited just long enough for it to draw closer, wanting to make sure she'd be seen the first time she tried. Then she raised her arm and took a couple of long strides forward, stepping off the curb. She stared down the driver when he came into view, and he began to slow. Only when she was positive that he was stopping did she retreat back up onto the curb, giving Tristan a smug look over her shoulder.

Tristan opened the door and gestured for her to go first, so she scrambled across the seat, smoothing her skirt while Tristan sank in next to her and broke the news to the driver. "We're going to Brooklyn."

The cabbie began to grumble, but took the address from Tristan and they were off. It smelled like sweat socks inside the cab, and Rory found herself wishing they could've walked all the way home, longing for the fresh air. The cabbie took a corner like he was Dale Ernhardt, throwing Rory sideways to collide with Tristan's body.

"You ok?" He straightened her with a hand against her shoulder.

"Fine." Her thigh was flush against Tristan's all the way down to their knees, where she could feel his warmth through his pant leg.

They whiled away the drive in near silence, and though she occasionally caught him stealing glances at her from the corner of his eye, Tristan mostly stared straight ahead out the windshield. She couldn't deny that she checked in with him a few times, too, and wondered what was on his mind. She could see a muscle working along his jaw.

When they pulled up outside her building, Rory opened her mouth to say goodbye to Tristan, but found him paying their fare. She slid out of the cab without another word and waited on the sidewalk. She absentmindedly fiddled with her skirt, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. Tristan climbed out of the cab, and she watched it drive away. The street was quiet.

She wasn't sure what was holding her in place, but she didn't budge as Tristan walked toward her, reminding her of a jungle cat stalking its prey. Through a monumental force of will, she held his gaze, even when she had to tilt her head up as he got close, and closer.

"Excuse me, sir, are you lost? I don't think you live here."

"I told you, I'm nothing if not a gentleman. I just wanted to see you home safely."

She nodded. "Got it. Well, good job. Here I am, there's home. Case closed."

She was rambling, but she couldn't help it. Not with the way he was still looking down at her. His jaw was working again, and she found that her hand had actually been reaching up of its own accord to smooth away the lines that had appeared on his forehead. She was so surprised that she actually broke his gaze to look down at her own hand, the traitor.

Tristan cleared his throat. "I hope I said this already, but great job tonight. You were amazing with the board."

"Are you kidding? You did most of the work, I just kind of came in at the end there." She was looking down at her shoes, over his shoulder, anywhere but at Tristan.

He used the tips of his fingers to capture her chin and bring her head up. "You went head-to-head with the President of the Board, without even thinking about it. I was still racking my brain to come up with a cohesive answer, and you were already defending our work. You were amazing," he said again. "We rocked it, and I couldn't have done it without you. And thank you for what you told them about me. What was the word you used again?" He rubbed his chin and pretended to consider. "Ah, yes. Brilliant." And then he gave her a grin to match.

"I'm glad I don't have to worry about it going to your head," she muttered.

"Never."

"Thank you for the drinks. You were right, I needed it." She shook her head, still not quite believing it. "This was such a weird evening for me."

"Me too," he admitted. And then he let the night quiet around them. He took a breath but then closed his mouth, apparently changing his mind about what he'd had to say. She watched his throat bob as he swallowed, and then he took a step closer to her, which was saying something. She could feel his body heat.

"Do you think you can handle just one more thing to think about for tonight?" he asked softly.

Rory's breath caught in her throat, and she wasn't sure how to answer. But then she didn't have to, because he was kissing her. She might have expected Tristan's kisses to be rough, with an edge, but that would mean that she had spent time thinking about Tristan's kisses. Which she hadn't. No, siree, not her.

He was gentle - tentative, almost, a mere brush of his lips against hers. He brought one hand up to cup her face and the other to the small of her back, keeping her in place, keeping her close. But there was no pressure to his touch, just warmth. He treated her as if she might break. Or spook.

And then he pulled away, and she was looking into his eyes again. There was something new there, something almost fragile, a very unfamiliar look for him. On some level, she wanted to take that fragility away, and turn him back into the cocky, sometimes infuriating man that he was. But more than that, she just wanted him to do that again.

Before she could give it too much thought and talk herself out of it, Rory threw her hands around his neck and pulled him back to her. She could see his kiss, and raise it. She drew his bottom lip between her own, flicking her tongue out to taste him. Tristan made a low sound, and with that, the gentleness was gone. He yanked her closer so that she was flush against him. His mouth pulled at her lips and she yielded, allowing his tongue to sweep into her mouth, tasting her, teasing her. His hand slid from her face to the back of her head, his fingers tightening in her hair. He tilted her head for a new angle without breaking the kiss.

Rory could barely maintain the presence of mind to chronicle the journey of her own wandering hand, sliding down his shoulder to his chest. His body was warm and hard, and when she trailed her hand lower between their bodies, she felt his abdominal muscles contract under her touch. She was beginning to come to terms with the fact that she was about to pass out, but then he pulled away, giving them both time to suck in oxygen like they were drowning. He kept his lips close, brushing against her neck, and she broke out in chills. She used the hand that was still gripping the hair at the nape of his neck to bring him back, seeking another kiss.

He seemed happy to oblige, and captured her mouth again. She shivered while his hand moved from her back to her side, slowly tracing up until his thumb barely grazed against the side of her breast. She sighed into his mouth, and he pulled back, drawing in another deep breath. He stepped back and moved both of his hands to her shoulders, holding her in place again. He wasn't quite keeping her at arm's length, but it was enough room for Rory to feel the night's breeze and begin to gather her thoughts, which had been thoroughly scattered.

She hoped that Tristan couldn't hear her heart beating wildly. She was pleased to note that his breath was coming quickly, and that he definitely was not unaffected, either.

"This is where we say goodnight," he breathed.

"You're not going to walk me to the door? Some gentleman you are," she scoffed, trying to bring some trace of their lighthearted banter back to the moment.

The corners of his mouth lifted. "This is me being a gentleman. If I go up those stairs, after _that_ , I'm not going to want to come back down."

She swallowed, hard. So much for levity. His eyes were dark, and she was sure hers were wide. All she could manage was, "Oh."

He chuckled softly, then leaned down again, and she closed her eyes and stopped breathing. But he just pressed his lips briefly to her cheek, then spoke into her ear. "Goodnight, Rory."

He moved his hands to her hips, turned her around, and gave her a gentle push, urging her up the stairs. She began to fish her keys out of her bag, and when she got to the door, she paused with her key in the lock to look back. Tristan stood where she'd left him at the bottom of the stairs, with his hands in his pockets, looking up at her.

She turned the key, opened the door, and slipped inside, not daring to look back again. She raced up the stairs as fast as her feet would carry her, considering she'd been in her heels for more than 14 hours by that point. She hastily let herself into her apartment and closed the door, leaning back against it and nearly sliding to the ground. Her knees were still shaking.

She raised her fingers to her lips, which felt swollen. What had she done?


	7. Old Love, or Lack Thereof

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** I know, I know… at the rate we're going, we might get to the end of this story by about 2027.

 **Chapter 7 - Old Love, or Lack Thereof**

Rory had seriously considered not showing up for work. She could count on one finger the number of times she'd called in sick for work in the past 7 years, and yet that morning she'd gone so far as to draft an email to her team to announce that she wouldn't be in that day. But then she'd stared at it while she nursed her third cup of coffee, and her sense of duty had finally won out over every other emotion vying for her attention. She had meetings scheduled, including one with an event venue, and she couldn't shirk those responsibilities.

She had kept looking over her shoulder during her commute, wondering whether she'd run into him on the train. It had never happened before, but she reminded herself that it was certainly a possibility. The closer she got to the office, the stronger she vacillated between wanting to see him versus wanting to run away. She'd had all weekend to stew over what had happened on Friday night, but it still hadn't been long enough for her mind to fully wrap around the situation nor to figure out what was supposed to come next.

It didn't help that she hadn't received a single clue from Tristan about what was going through his mind. Sure, they'd exchanged a few emails, but all included other team members on the thread, and all commentary had been strictly work-related. Still, she had involuntarily caught her breath every time her cell phone had alerted her to a call or text.

She made it to the office without incident and stepped into the elevator to whisk her up to the 25th floor. If her life were a TV drama, Tristan would've been on the elevator when she'd stepped aboard, and they would've been alone. Instead, the elevator was packed with the morning rush of worker bees, Tristan was still nowhere to be seen, and she was being smothered by the scent of someone's breakfast burrito, rather than by sexual tension.

"Morning, boss!" Rory was accosted by Macy the moment she stepped off the elevator, and she slowed from her normal pace to allow the shorter woman to fall into step.

"Don't call me boss."

"Give me the dish on the board meeting."

"You got my email?" Rory confirmed.

Macy nodded. "Yeah, they're recommitted to us, which is great, of course. I mean, we weren't truly worried, were we? But come on, I want to hear the rest of the dirty details of the evening."

Rory nearly splashed her coffee all over herself as she was taking a sip. "Excuse me?"

"You know, what did they really want, and what did you say? How did it go? I want the play-by-play."

"Oh, that." Rory ran her hand over her mouth to get rid of the coffee mustache. "Sure, I'll fill you in."

Macy followed Rory into her office and made herself comfortable in the chair opposite her desk while Rory unpacked her bag and hooked her laptop up to her monitor. "Did you have a good weekend?"

Rory shrugged. "Sure. I got a lot of work done."

Macy's forehead wrinkled in concern. "That doesn't sound good at all."

Work had been the only thing that was able to take Rory's mind even momentarily off of the events of Friday night, but Macy didn't need to know that. "We were able to convince RJT that they don't have to worry about Panoramic being able to raise the extra capital that TerraSync is going to need for this expanded pilot. Now it's time for us to put our money where our mouth is, and I was just trying to get a head start."

"Still, even you need a break every now and then," Macy insisted. "I would've hoped that you could've had a little fun on Saturday, at least, since Friday night was obviously a bust for you."

Rory could only hope that her slight flush wasn't noticeable. Such an innocent statement, but one that nonetheless triggered certain reflections to the night in question. "Don't worry about me," was all she could mumble, covering with another sip of her coffee.

Macy didn't look appeased. "First you have to skip out on your date with Lucy last week, and then you work all weekend?"

"That's what comes along with being the boss, I guess."

"I thought you weren't the boss," Macy reminded her.

Anxious to change the subject, Rory grasped at the straw Macy had offered. "How did dinner go with Lucy? We didn't have a chance to catch up afterward on Friday."

"Great! You were right, she's the best."

"Actually, Lucy is the one who made the introduction to the Center Director of the venue I'm checking out today. She's starring in a play that's scheduled to open there in a few weeks."

Macy nodded knowingly. "That must be Nate."

"You heard?"

"Not much about the venue, or even the play, but oh yeah - I heard plenty about Nate."

Rory grinned. "Lucy tends not to hold back."

"That she does not. I think I like that about her."

"She's certainly one of a kind," Rory agreed fondly.

"So you're meeting with the venue today? Where is it?"

"It's an arts center in SoHo. I'm meeting Nate there this afternoon. I'm not thrilled with any of the other venues I saw last week, but based on just the initial research, this one looks promising. I'm thinking it'll be perfect for the Jail and Bail event."

"I'm so excited we're doing that!"

"Good, because it's going to need a lot of your attention. I want to move the schedule up." Rory made a sympathetic face while she braced for Macy's reaction.

"Move it up to when?"

"Next week."

The other girl's eyebrows lifted. "Next week? As in, the week that comes right after this one?"

"That's the one."

"Do Austin and Casey know yet?"

Rory shook her head. "I haven't had a chance to break it to them."

"Tristan knows, at least, right?"

Rory looked down at her hands on her desk. "Not yet."

"Oh boy."

"We can do it," Rory assured, showing a bit more bravado for Macy's sake than she was necessarily feeling.

Macy lifted her chin. "Of course we can, boss. And with that, I guess I'd better get going and get to work. I'll loop in Austin and Casey and we'll buckle down. You'll let us know how the venue visit goes?"

"Of course. And will you do me a favor and pass the word along to Tristan's team, too?" Rory couldn't help but feel like that was a little bit of a cop-out, but Macy just nodded.

"No problem," she confirmed. "I have a meeting with Sophia this morning to review some upcoming press releases. I'll fill her in. What time is your venue meeting? Will you be at the State of the Union today?"

Rory nodded. Whether it was fortunate or unfortunate, she had yet to determine, but she would be back in time for the weekly Monday afternoon meeting that involved key members of Jason's team, hers, and Tristan's. "I'll be there. I'm meeting with Nate at 12:30, and don't expect to need longer than an hour."

"See you then, boss."

She watched as Macy headed back down the hall to her own office to prep for the pile of work that Rory had just handed over.

Rory took a moment to get up and close her office door. She shifted her attention to her own work, first scanning through her emails before digging in to review materials for an upcoming press kit. She'd purposefully kept her morning free of meetings, giving herself time to dig in and get things done before her meetings that afternoon. Although her work was punctuated by a few colleagues poking their heads in or popping by with questions, she was pleased with the progress she'd been able to make.

Although she'd managed to keep herself reasonably distracted until the time came to leave for the arts center, when she stood to gather her bag, she groaned at the twinge in her neck. She rolled her right shoulder in an attempt to work out the kink. It dawned on her that she'd been half-expecting Tristan to show up at her office door, and she must have been more tense than she'd realized.

She forced thoughts of Tristan out of her mind, right alongside the surprising feelings of disappointment that were beginning to surface with a vengeance. All weekend, she'd been wondering whether she would hear from him, and now here they were, nearly three hours into the workday, and their paths still hadn't crossed.

She had been holding her ground, waiting to take her cue from him. What had Friday meant? Rory couldn't help feeling self-conscious. What was he thinking about That Moment That She Definitely Wasn't Thinking About? Was this still a game to him? Did he regret it? Was he avoiding her?

She held her head high as she made her way down the hall. So what if he was? After all, she was doing the same, wasn't she?

Before she had a chance to come to a conclusion, she heard a familiar voice from across the hall and her eyes were drawn like magnets to see the object of her thoughts striding toward her. He was walking briskly alongside Tony Beneducci, from the Accounts team. Tristan was gesturing with his hands, seemingly deep in conversation.

Rory nearly stumbled in the process of her evasive maneuver. She practically dove into a file room immediately on her left. She pressed her back up against the file cabinets and stepped further into the room. She silently counted to ten after Tristan's voice had completely faded from the hall, then let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She sidled closer to the doorway and peeked out, looking both ways down the hall. When she confirmed that the coast was clear, she set her shoulders and stepped out purposefully.

Only when she got to the elevator and was blessedly alone when the doors closed did she allow herself to sag back and bang her head against the wall. What was the matter with her?

She'd spent all weekend stewing over her thoughts and trying to make a plan for what she'd say when she saw Tristan, and she still had nothing. Even now, 57 hours later - but who was counting? - she could still feel his lips on hers. She remembered the way he'd tasted like smoky whiskey, and the warmth of his body. But then every time, she had to reminder herself that it was _Tristan_ she was remembering; _Tristan_ she found herself fantasizing about.

She wasn't sure where they were supposed to go from here. Who did he think he was, kissing her like that, and then letting 57 hours pass without another word? She couldn't help but feel like she was at a disadvantage, without knowing what he was thinking. How was she supposed to react? What was he expecting? She was used to having a plan of action, and didn't tend to operate well without one.

She took a deep breath as the elevator ticked ever closer to the ground floor. Before the doors opened, she steeled herself and found new resolution. She was a woman with a plan, but her plan had dependencies. She would wait to see how Tristan chose to react, and that would inform her decision. The ball was in his court.

* * *

BETWEEN THE SUBWAY ride and the 5-block walk, Rory had managed to mostly clear her mind of wayward thoughts and prepare her focus for her meeting. With the decision to move up the date of the Jail and Bail event, it was even more important for her to land this venue ASAP. She needed a confirmed location for the event by the end of the day.

She pulled open the door to the event space and stepped into the lobby, complete with a lounge area. She'd already looked over plenty of photos online and in the event packet the venue had provided, and was fairly sure the space would work well for them. Her goal today was to meet with the Center Director, this infamous Nate character, to confirm her instincts with a walk-through and then talk details. She was hoping she could get him to cut her a deal on the rental price, since this was a fundraiser.

The place was empty, being mid-morning on a Monday. She'd just begun to look around when someone called out to her, and she turned to see a man striding toward her.

"You must be Ms. Gilmore."

"That's me," she confirmed, shaking his outstretched hand. "Please, call me Rory."

He nodded his head in agreement. "Rory," he confirmed. "I'm Nate. It's great to meet you."

She had to look quite a ways up to meet his brown eyes; Nate must have clocked in around 6'3", at least. His dark brown hair was long, brushing his shirt collar. He wore it tucked behind his ears, with some wayward locks falling into his eyes. He gave her a warm smile, complete with perfect dimples. Rory could easily see how Lucy had become smitten. This man was certainly an attractive specimen. Objectively speaking, of course.

She blinked and shifted her focus back to their purpose. "Thank you for meeting with me, especially on short notice."

"My pleasure," he assured her. "I've been reading quite a bit about TerraSync lately. We would be honored if you chose to host an event here." Then he gave her a conspiratorial smile. "Plus, any friend of Lucy's is a friend of mine."

"I've heard a bit about you from her, too," Rory admitted.

At that, his eyes lit with curiosity. "Is that so?"

"You didn't hear that from me," she warned.

"Hear what?" Nate winked at her, still looking pleased. "Why don't we take a look around? I'll be happy to answer any questions for you."

He led her through the lobby and attached lounge, discussing various set-up options for events. She'd already mentioned that she was interested in their largest space, so he led her through a small exhibition space, past a door to one of the theaters, and through the next door to a large open floor plan.

"You said you're expecting about 100 guests?" he inquired.

Rory nodded. "Give or take. We don't plan on requiring RSVPs, given the short timeline, but each guest will need to present their invitation at the door, and will only be allowed plus one. Do you have an in-house bouncer, or a vendor to recommend?"

"We can arrange to have one of our regular guys work that night. We usually do recommend our in-house staff, but we can be open to discussion if you have your own preferred vendors."

"No, that will be great," Rory said. "I'd just as soon keep this simple, and not worry about multiple vendors coming in and out. I know we talked about the bar already. Can you tell me about catering options?"

"We don't have a full kitchen, but we partner with a local catering company, and the chef can take special requests. For events like these, we typically do a buffet-style set-up." He pointed across the room to the wall adjacent to the door. "I'd recommend setting up the food over there, and the bar in the corner. Your email said you would have a few other set-up needs?"

Rory explained the event concept - event guests could fill out an arrest warrant for another guest, based on a number of supposed 'infractions' that would be included in their invitations. The 'Judge' would then set a bail, and the jailbirds would need to solicit donations for said bail. The proceeds from the night would be shared between TerraSync and the New York City Police Department. As she explained, Rory walked around the space pointing out her ideas for the warrant station, jail processing center, and Judge's bench. Nate watched and nodded along in amusement.

"This is certainly a unique event. I can't say we've ever done this before. It should be fun. What about the actual jail cell?" he inquired.

Rory shook her head. "No cell time for these perps. We need this to still be a networking event, and that won't work if all our criminals are locked up. Take it from me, being stuck in a cell with strangers isn't all it's cracked up to be."

She must've let just a hint of wariness slip into her tone, because Nate raised his eyebrows and gave her an inquisitive look.

She laughed it off and shook her head. "Long story, trust me. Don't worry, my record's been expunged."

Nate let it go, and instead refocused them on the task at hand. "I don't see any of these requests being a problem, as long as your team provides the materials. We have a crew who can help with set-up and tear-down."

She'd been hoping that would be the case. "That's great. I think that's about it, then."

He escorted her back out of the space, through the lobby, and upstairs to his office on the second floor. She took a seat in one of the two chairs in front of his desk, surveying the bookshelf at her side that was packed to the brim. "This is quite an eclectic collection you have here."

"What can I say, I love stories, on the page and on the stage."

Rory nodded in approval, then cut to the chase. "So, with everything we've talked about - the space, the bar, catering, set-up - what are we looking at?"

"I took the liberty of drafting up a rental contract." He reached behind him and pulled the papers out of a file. "Based on what we've talked about today, let me make a few adjustments." He grabbed his pen and spent a few moments crossing things out and scribbling in new notes. When he got to the last page, he wrote out a final number and then slid it across the table to Rory. "With your nonprofit status, plus a small 'friends and family discount' that Lucy has already negotiated on your behalf, here's what I can do."

Rory glanced down at the bottom line, then looked back up and smiled. She extended her hand to Nate. "We've got a deal. I'm looking forward to working with you."

After crossing the t's and dotting the i's, Nate escorted her to the door. Having the venue locked down was a weight off her shoulders, and she left feeling satisfied and accomplished. Take that, Monday.

* * *

UNFORTUNATELY, THE REST of the day went downhill from there. Back in her office, Rory had spent a good hour and a half digging out of the emails that had piled up in the time that she'd been at the venue. There were a few minor fires to put out, but nothing too concerning.

Then she came across a message from Mitchum Huntzberger, which had an instant dampening effect on her mood. She had sent the entire RJT Board several project scope documents for upcoming fundraising events. It was more of a professional courtesy than anything, as the Board didn't actually have much if any influence over the way that Panoramic chose to implement the campaign. Once they'd agreed to keep the campaign with the Panoramic team, they were meant to step back out of the equation. However, Mitchum had apparently taken it upon himself to go through each document with a fine-toothed comb and send back no less than 17 condescending questions about the plans. As she skimmed through them, Rory grew more and more indignant, but was interrupted by a knock on her door.

"Come in," she called. Sighing in frustration, she glanced up to greet her visitor, and saw Tristan pulling the door closed behind him.

Damn. She still wasn't prepared to see him, and didn't know what to say. She was afraid that she probably looked like a deer in the headlights, and quickly worked to wipe the surprise from her face. She wracked her brain, sorting through the dozens of opening lines she'd practiced over the weekend, but knowing that she still hadn't settled on anything she was comfortable with. She was determined not to go out on a limb until she had a better idea of what he was thinking.

He was lingering by the door. He seemed to be unwilling to be the one to break the silence between them, instead giving her an expectant look.

"Hi," she finally offered.

"Hey." Even his facial expression was giving nothing away.

She tried for as innocuous a statement as she could. "Did you hear that we finalized HERE Arts Center for the event next week?"

Tristan crossed his arms and leaned against her door. "I did. I also heard that apparently we're moving up the date."

"That's not a problem, is it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "We'll make it work."

"It means that we'll need Creative to get those invitations out ASAP," she reminded him.

"I already spoke with them about it."

"Thank you," she acknowledged.

"No problem."

Rory was still struggling to find her balance in this conversation. His tone was almost brusque, and there was none of their trademark sarcasm in sight. She didn't know what to make of it. She stood from her chair and crossed to the front of her desk. Tristan pushed away from the wall, arms still crossed over his chest, but made no further move to close the distance between them.

After another moment of silence, she tried again. "Have you spoken to Jason yet today?"

Tristan shook his head. "I haven't heard from him since Friday night."

 _Friday night_. The words were out there. Rory let them hang in the air, wondering whether he would expand on the other events of the evening.

His gaze was locked on her, as if he were waiting for something. It was then that she started to think that maybe she'd forgotten something, and she started to panic. "We don't have a meeting right now, do we?"

His brow creased in confusion. "No, why?"

She was grasping at straws, trying to interpret his mood. "Well was there something else that you needed?"

His eyes flashed and she almost retreated a step, but forced herself to hold her ground. He sighed then, and his mouth set in a hard line. "No. I guess not."

Rory took another tentative step forward, surprised at the emotion she was now able to decipher. "Wait, what?"

He shook his head, already preparing to let himself out. "Nothing. Forget it."

Before she could get another word in, Tristan had shut the door behind him.

Rory sat back at her desk and stared at the closed door in shock. Of all the reactions that she may have expected Tristan to have, and of all the scenarios that she'd tried to mentally prepare herself for, that certainly hadn't been one of them. Had she been imagining things, or had he actually seemed _angry_?

She listlessly clicked through a few more emails, looking but not seeing the text while she tried to catch up with what had just happened. He had dropped in for less than three minutes, remained stoic at best, and then left in a huff, all without a single indication that less than 62 hours ago he'd had his tongue down her throat.

In said 62 hours, she hadn't quite landed on what she'd _hoped_ their next interaction would be like, but she did have to admit that her feelings came pretty close to what she might call disappointment when she'd registered the guarded way that he'd looked at her. Was this his way of saying that Friday night was a mistake? Trying to make sure she knew that they were going back to business as usual?

She sighed and leaned back in her chair, twirling around to face the window. She allowed herself ten more seconds to remember the way his eyes had darkened that night, and the way he'd pulled her against his body. Okay, maybe fifteen seconds. She was still struggling to reconcile the sudden 180 degree about-face, recalling the absolute contrast she'd seen in his eyes a few minutes ago. His gaze had been almost cold.

Then she firmly shut the door on the memory and spun back around to her computer, decidedly putting Tristan out of her mind. That was settled, she supposed. If that was the way he wanted to play this, that was just fine by her. Or at least she could keep telling herself that.

She checked the clock on her desktop and decided to spend the next 45 minutes addressing Mitchum's email as professionally as she could. In her imagination, at least, she could sprinkle in a few expletives. She made sure to address each of his questions, no matter how condescending, and if she could also take the chance to brag a bit about their campaign results in the process, all the better.

She wrapped up the message with, _If there are any further questions I can address for you, please don't hesitate to let me know, you jerk_. She got an odd sense of satisfaction at typing the last two words, even if she did hit backspace immediately. She skimmed over the message one last time before clicking Send, then grabbed her laptop off the charging station and gathered up the files she needed before heading off to the State of the Union meeting.

She took her time on the journey, taking the stairs up the three floors to the only conference room that had been available that afternoon. She emerged on the 28th floor and saw Sophia and Casey walking ahead of her down the hall, and felt no small amount of relief that at least she knew she wouldn't walk in and be alone with Tristan. Still, she slowed her pace even more, drawing out the inevitable.

When she finally reached the conference room, she set her shoulders and pulled open the door, making a concerted effort to _not_ look around the faces in the room. Instead, she quickly found an empty seat and busied herself with opening her laptop and preparing her notes file among her colleagues' side conversations.

Austin sat to her left, and they began to discuss the contents of a press kit going out to an upcoming conference on sustainability taking place in Denver. Out of the corner of her eye, Rory caught the motion of someone new entering the room; someone wearing a navy blue suit that she'd noticed earlier also accentuated that same someone's leanly muscled frame. She forced herself to keep her attention on Austin, and held her breath as that someone approached the empty seat to her right… and then swept past her. He was no longer in her peripheral, so she didn't notice where he sat down.

A few moments later, Macy appeared, out of breath, and plopped into the seat next to Rory. "Whew, I thought I'd never get off the phone with Chuck Garrisson."

"The editor of The Star-Ledger? How did it go?" Rory asked.

Macy waved her off. "It went fantastic, of course. Who do you think you're talking to?"

"Well?" she pressed. "Tell me."

Macy grinned. "They'll run our release announcing the event, he's sending Susan Truley to cover it, and I think I see front-page coverage in our future."

Austin reached around Rory to high-five Macy, and Rory added her congratulations. "That's awesome. Thank you for taking care of that."

"You got it, boss," Macy replied cheekily.

Before Rory could object again to the moniker, Derek Amir drew the group's attention and opened the meeting. As usual, they began by going around the table and offering project status updates, posing questions to the group as needed. Claire and Joey from Jason's team were sitting near the head of the table, and they went first, followed by Macy, whose updates Rory had already known, of course.

Rory stepped in when it was her turn. "As we all now know, the scope of the TerraSync project has expanded significantly, and my team's attention has been on ramping up the fundraising efforts to ensure that we meet the new capital requirements," she began. Had it really only been last week that she and Tristan had met with Jason about the increase in budget? So much had happened since then, it felt like that had been weeks ago.

"Again, most of us in this room are aware by now, but that has included escalating the timeline for our next event, the Jail and Bail," she continued. "As of this afternoon, we've finalized the venue, and now will need to focus on getting the invitations out quickly to make sure we end up with a good turnout. With the proceeds split between us and the NYPD, our goal for this event is $300,000."

"How achievable is that?" Derek asked.

"We're confident that we'll meet our target," she replied easily.

Derek nodded efficiently. "Any other questions for Rory's team about this next event?"

"Just that next time, we'd appreciate a little more heads up before forcing a timeline shift that will jack up the rest of the team's priorities."

Surprised, Rory's attention clicked over to where Tristan sat across the table from her. His focus was on Derek, so she narrowed her eyes ever-so-slightly at his profile.

Derek seemed surprised as well at the thinly veiled chastisement. "Which impacts are you most concerned about?"

Tristan ticked off on his fingers, still speaking directly to Derek, rather than to her. "First, Creative's attention has been diverted to the Jail and Bail invitations, which means the mock-ups for the Time and Newsweek ads have had to be pushed back. They quoted me an extra three days' turnaround, which means we've lost our time for revisions. Second, we'd been trying to use this time to get a jumpstart on work for the black tie gala, but now we'll be behind the eight ball on that, too. I get why we've moved the event up, but I'm just saying, a little more notice would've been nice."

He finally turned to face Rory directly as he concluded his argument, his gaze hard. "Funny how we hadn't heard anything over the weekend, even though the decision had clearly already been made."

Rory felt heat rising to her face and had to take a moment to breathe before responding. She couldn't believe the nerve he had, clearly admonishing her in front of everyone in the meeting, including Jason's team. Had this been what had gotten into him earlier? He couldn't have just brought it up then, in private? Though she was seething, she forced herself to remain professional.

"I apologize for any inconvenience to the team," she forced. "Although I did see the revised timeline from Creative, and I let them know that three extra days wouldn't work for us; they've committed to getting it done in two, which still leaves us plenty of time to review before we send the ads to the publisher."

Tristan considered her impassively for a moment. "All I'm saying is that you could have communicated this sooner. Before we'd already begun to make other plans."

Before Rory could reply, Derek was already recapping. "Point taken, Tristan. As we continue down the path of this expanded scope and the increased goals, we'll all keep in mind that internal communication will continue to be a top priority. Let's move on to Austin."

Rory continued to glare at Tristan, though gave up when she realized that his attention had been redirected to her colleague on her left as he provided his own recap. No use wasting her ire on him if he wasn't even going to notice.

She dutifully took notes throughout the rest of the meeting, thankfully getting answers to most of the questions she had walked in with. When the time came for Tristan's update, she thought about giving him an equally hard time, figuring that turnabout was fair play, but decided against it. He was clearly more prickly than usual today, and was even lacking in his usual quips and bravado.

When the meeting adjourned, she kept a surreptitious eye on Tristan and took her time in gathering her things while he wrapped up a conversation with Joey. When she saw him exit the conference room, she quickly followed, though was held up as some of her colleagues continued to mill about. When she was finally able to spill into the hallway, Tristan was already halfway to the staircase and walking briskly.

"Hey!" she called. She scrambled to catch up, but could only go so fast in her slim pencil skirt and heels. She watched as he ducked into the stairwell, and she made it just in time to grab the door right before it closed behind him. "Tristan!"

He was halfway down the first set of stairs, but she watched as he seemed to visibly resign himself before turning to face her. "Yes?"

"What the hell was that about?" she demanded. She came to a stop on the stair above him, appreciating that between the extra step and her heels, he had to look up to her for once.

"Assuming you're talking about the meeting, I thought it went quite well. I was pleased to hear that everyone seems to be on track, despite you pulling the rug out from under us."

"That! That's exactly what I'm talking about. Where do you get off acting like I royally screwed everything up, even when you admit that it was necessary? I can't believe you brought that up in front of Jason's team. And Derek, for that matter."

He took a step up to meet her on her level. She should've known he wouldn't let her keep her advantage for long. "You know, for someone so smart, you sure are dense."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"Nothing. Forget it."

"Hey!" She reached out to grab his arm, preventing him from leaving. "That's the second time today that you've said that and tried to storm off. What's going on?"

He glanced down to where her hand was wrapped around his forearm, and she self-consciously released him. When he looked back up, his stare was blank.

She softened her tone. "Are we really not going to talk about what happened?"

He gave a humorless laugh. "Don't worry, you're off the hook."

She tore her eyes away from his before he could see the effect he had on her. "So that's it?"

"That's it." With that, he turned away and continued down the stairs. He paused when he reached the landing, and for a moment she could've sworn that his glacial gaze started to warm as he looked up at her.

Oh no, he didn't. Tristan feeling _sorry_ for her was about the worst thing she could think of. She set her shoulders. "I'm glad we were able to straighten that out."

Just like that, the warmth in his eyes was gone again. Good. She continued to stare at him defiantly. He took a step forward and drew in a breath, but then apparently changed his mind about whatever he'd been about to say. Instead, he turned and continued down the stairs, and this time, he didn't look back once.


	8. I Can't Read You

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** Wow, check it out - first two whole chapters in a year, and now two whole chapters in a week.

 **Chapter 8 - I Can't Read You**

"Ms. Gilmore?"

Rory turned at the mention of her name and pasted on her best professional smile, recognizing the man approaching. "Chief Gomez, hello."

He took her outstretched hand in greeting and then gestured to the woman beside him. "This is my wife, Claudia."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Gomez."

"Ms. Gilmore is responsible for this event," the Chief clarified.

"Please, call me Rory," she offered. "And you overstate my importance here, Chief. There were quite a few members of Panoramic and TerraSync who came together to make tonight happen."

"True," he acknowledged. "Though when I spoke with Mr. Banquet, yours was the only name he mentioned specifically. It seems you'd made quite an impression."

Rory blushed, having no idea that her name would have made it all the way to the Times' Executive Editor himself. "I'm afraid I may have been a little overzealous with my _many_ polite reminders to the Times staff about this evening."

Chief Gomez chuckled. "Well whatever you did, we thank you. It seems the press has responded in force, and I'm sure you know that the NYPD won't turn down some positive publicity."

She nodded graciously. "I'm so glad you were able to make it tonight."

"Wouldn't have missed it," he assured her.

"Well I don't want to keep you. I hope you have a few warrants you plan to write tonight."

His eyes glittered, and he agreed. "Indeed I do."

"It was great meeting you, Mrs. Gomez. Thank you for coming, Chief."

As the couple turned to make their way through the crowd to the 'Warrant Station', Rory moved to the side of the throng and took a moment to survey the team's handiwork. It wasn't half bad, if she did say so herself. The room was teeming with an elite list of business executives, interspersed with uniformed NYPD officers, all of whom seemed to be enjoying the game. They were only a couple hours into the event, but thanks to the large digital display they'd set up to track proceeds throughout the night, Rory could see that they were well on their way to meeting their financial goals. The donations were flowing in, and the Panoramic team was working the crowd, continuing to generate buzz about TerraSync.

Speaking of who was working the crowd, Rory did a double take as her gaze swept over the event, coming to land on Tristan. He was across the room near the Judge's Bench, talking with what appeared to be Steve Schale, who Rory knew to be the CEO of a very hot, fast-rising tech startup. Tristan was clearly in his element; Rory could see the other man hanging on the story he was telling, until they both started laughing. Tristan clapped him on the shoulder briefly, and with a few more words, seemed to excuse himself. He started heading toward the bar, and Rory found herself inexplicably making her way there as well.

On her way over, Rory was stopped just a couple of times to shake hands with some of their guests. Sophia had caught her attention and brought her over to be introduced to two of NYPD's finest, and she was also sidetracked by Joel Ogden, a real estate mogul whose face she'd recently seen on the cover of Forbes Magazine. She made polite chatter with him for a few minutes until he spotted a client across the room and excused himself to say hello.

She was beginning to think she'd never make it to the bar. She'd resigned herself to her fate and was preparing to give up and seek out Macy for a quick check-in, when she heard her name over her shoulder. She turned to find Nate, holding out a Manhattan. With extra cherries.

She grinned at him. "Was this just a lucky guess, or did Lucy tell you?"

He nodded his head in acknowledgement. "She may have made me promise to keep an eye on you tonight, and to bring you a drink if you looked like you needed it."

"Uh oh." She smiled. "Was I looking a little too wistfully at the bar right then?"

Nate covered smoothly. "You've been looking nothing but lovely all evening, but I figured a drink couldn't hurt nonetheless."

"Too true." She tipped her glass to him and took a sip, allowing herself to close her eyes briefly as the whiskey warmed her.

"So how's everything going?" Nate asked.

"It seems to be going well." She gestured around the room to their surroundings, which had been transformed since their original meeting two weeks ago. "The place looks great. It turned out better than I could've imagined. Your staff has been fantastic."

"I'm glad to hear it. It's quite the illustrious crowd you've gathered here tonight. You and TerraSync are going to singlehandedly put HERE on the map," he joked.

She chuckled. "Nah, I'll leave that to Lucy's performance in the upcoming production."

He took a step closer to her, moving out of the way of a rather portly gentleman who had his sights set on the buffet table. Rory noticed his eyes soften and a smile play on his lips at the mention of Lucy. "She sure is something."

"That she is." Rory couldn't help but smile up at him. She made a mental note that she and Lucy needed to find time to catch up soon. She hadn't had much time to spend with her friend in the past couple of weeks, but clearly a girls' night was in order so that Rory could get the full scoop on this new beau.

Nate blinked out of his reverie and gave her a bashful grin. "I guess I don't need to tell you that, huh? Best friend and all. When you debrief with her about tonight, as I'm sure you girls do, I'd really appreciate it if you could leave out the dopey part right there."

Rory laughed with him. "It'll be our secret," she promised. "So she asked you to keep an eye on me, huh? Not that I mind having my drink hand-delivered."

"She said something about how this event might bring up some memories for you. Past incarceration and all." He winked at her.

She gave him a wry smile. "Ah. She filled you in on that little tidbit, I take it?"

"Sounds like an interesting story."

Rory started at the sound of his voice and nearly choked on her Manhattan, turning to see Tristan giving her a curious look.

"It's no Moby Dick," she joked. Then she cleared her throat, recovering from her near-spit-take. "Tristan, this is Nate Bennett, he's the Center Director. Nate, Tristan Dugray, Senior Account Executive with Panoramic."

The two men shook hands, and then Nate excused himself to go check on the caterer in the back, noticing that one of the buffet items was in near need of replenishment.

"You two were joking about the past incarceration thing, right?"

She reluctantly turned her attention to Tristan. "I wish."

"Rory Gilmore, ex-con." He made a show of trying out the title, then shook his head. "No, that doesn't make sense to me."

She flapped her hand as if she could brush the discovery away. "It was a small indiscretion in college. It wasn't a big deal."

"So tell me, because I'm still having trouble picturing this," Tristan started. "When you were apparently in jail, did you wear the black and white stripes, or is it only orange jumpsuits these days?"

"I'm a little surprised you haven't been able to ascertain that answer for yourself over these past few years," she quipped.

"Trust me, I never thought it would have ended up this way either," he assured her, gesturing between the two of them. "Nevertheless, I haven't had the pleasure, so you'll have to fill me in - what has higher trade value, cigarettes or porn?"

She sighed, sensing that he was going to have way too much fun with this if she didn't put a stop to it right quick. "Listen. As much as I'd love to stay and chat, I have an event to get back to."

"Hang on. I came to find you for a reason. I need to talk to you. Come with me."

He put his hand to her back to guide her through the crowd, but she sidestepped his touch. She was perfectly capable of making her own way. She led him of the event room, through the art exhibition space, and into a small office that they'd set up as a command center for the evening. The team's laptops were all crowded around a single desk, but she and Tristan were alone. The room even blocked out much of the noise as he closed the door behind him.

"What is it?" She began to grow worried as she took in Tristan's expression, his jaw set and arms crossed. Her mind began to race with all the possible issues that could have cropped up with the event, along with her mentally catalogued, meticulously-thought-out plans of reaction. "What's wrong? Did we run out of food?"

He remained stoic, and then she really began to sweat.

"Booze?" she guessed again with no small trace of horror. She'd already plotted out the closest liquor store, just in case, but was worried about making a scene, since there was only the one entry in our out of the event room...

Luckily, Tristan didn't leave her in suspense much longer. "Did you happen to meet with Derek this week and tell him that you're thinking of scrapping _all_ of our original plans for the next wave of corporate engagement?"

"Oh, that. Yes." She grimaced. She'd forgotten to talk to him about that. Judging by the look on his face, he was none too happy to be left out of the loop. "Look, I'm sorry, I was just -"

"You were what? Trying to make me look like an idiot when I subsequently brought him the messaging drafts that didn't match up at all with what you'd pitched to him?"

"Hold on a minute, that's not it at all," she insisted. "I had planned to tell you. I stopped by your office after a meeting last week, but you weren't there."

He threw up his hands. "Oh, well that explains it. You _tried_ to tell me. I wasn't in my office, so I guess there was really no other choice, was there? It's not like there are any other options. Though wouldn't it be nifty if there were some kind of communication that could be sent between people who were separated by distance? It would have to be faster than mail, though, so maybe it could be sent electronically… Hmm."

She gave him a droll look and paused a couple of beats. "Are you done?"

"You hadn't already caused enough of a headache over the past couple weeks with the timeline for this event? You've got your sights set on screwing up the next two weeks, too?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but -"

"Right, I wasn't there. Got it. I suppose I need to assign someone to shadow you, and be able to fill me in on what you're thinking and all these decisions you're making behind closed doors."

"You seem perfectly capable of making unilateral decisions, yourself," she reminded him, her frustration creeping into her tone.

"Oh really? Please enlighten me on my apparent dictatorial ways."

She glared at him. The first example that sprang to mind, of course, was the one that she was definitely not going to be the one to bring up. He'd had no qualms about making decisions for both of them after That Thing That She Still Wasn't Thinking About. It had been two weeks, and after the initial contention between them the Monday after That Thing, he had apparently decided to completely shut her out. They still worked together, of course, but his interactions with her had become very cordial. It was a bit disturbing at first, but she'd been getting used to it. Until tonight, when something had clearly flicked some switch inside him, and he had decided to come out swinging again.

He took her momentary silence as a surrender and smirked. "Cat got your tongue?"

She wasn't sure if she really wanted to muster up the energy to work into a full-on argument with him. She'd been "on" all day, and it was starting to catch up with her. "You know what, fine. I already admitted that I forgot to tell you. I tried to apologize. I don't know what else you want from me."

"There's a difference between not knowing, and not caring."

She looked up at him sharply, confused at the derisiveness in his tone. "Whatever. Think what you want. I'm going to head back."

He grabbed her wrist before she could escape, not pulling, but not letting go either. "You seem to be pretty friendly with that Nate fellow," he observed.

"Your point being?"

"Are you seeing him?" he demanded.

Her frustration started to boil over. Apparently she'd found her second wind, and did have energy for an argument, after all. She took a step closer while also shaking off his grasp. "That's not any of your business. You made sure of that."

"Maybe not," he acknowledged. "But that's not an answer."

"What would it matter to you if I were seeing him?" she asked sharply.

He took a moment before answering. "It wouldn't."

She held her chin high. Probably the answer she should have expected. "Then why do you care?"

"I didn't say I did care," he corrected.

She nodded efficiently. "Glad we cleared that up, then."

"I guess now I know how we got such a good deal on the venue," he remarked coolly.

"Excuse me?" she demanded incredulously.

"I'm just saying, I'm sure the flirting didn't hurt."

She stared at him, dumbfounded that he could even think such a thing. "Wow," she exaggerated. "Even I didn't realize that my womanly wiles were that powerful. I guess I underestimated myself."

He'd begun to look chagrined, and sighed, then lowered his voice. "Rory, I -"

"Oh, no," she stopped him, too incensed to listen right then. "I can't be wasting my time standing here talking to you. I'd better go start flirting with some of these big wig execs, get them to open those pocketbooks a little wider, don't you think?"

"I didn't -"

"Don't." She shook her head. "You don't need to say anything else."

She turned on her heel and stormed away, closing the door firmly behind her without looking back.

* * *

RORY SIGHED IN relief when she finally kicked off her heels. Though she dearly loved her Louboutins, she should've known better; ten hours was their limit before they started to hurt, and today she was going on sixteen. She stacked the shoes neatly in their spot in the closet. After a brief fight with her dress's tricky zipper, she changed into pajama shorts and a tank top before setting her sights on her next most important task - food.

She cursed herself for not making more time to sample the buffet at the event as her stomach growled again. She dug out what had quickly become her favorite takeout menu, from the hole-in-the-wall Chinese place a couple blocks over. Thank God for 24-hour delivery. They quoted her 30 minutes, but she knew from experience that they'd likely be there in 20.

She thought momentarily of the work that she should probably attend to, and sighed. She decided to give herself the next 20 minutes to veg, figuring she could get to work once her food arrived and she had a little more sustenance. That decision made, she settled into her favorite spot on the couch with her legs tucked under her and clicked on the TV.

Flipping listlessly through the channels, she allowed her mind to wander through the events of the day. There was no doubt that the event had been a hit. Macy had texted her on her way home to say that they'd officially surpassed their target fundraising goal. Per their partnership agreement, once the overall goal had been met to afford TerraSync their $300k split, the remaining proceeds would all go directly to the NYPD.

She shifted on the couch, still trying to get comfortable. She'd just achieved a professional success, and had contributed to her community in the process. She should feel satisfied, at least for tonight, and then tomorrow she could throw herself into planning for her next successful event.

Still. She couldn't help but reflect back on her argument with Tristan. After she'd stormed out of the office, she had studiously avoided him for the rest of the night, but caught his eyes on her more than a few times from across the room. It was anyone's guess what had gotten into him that night; she could only hope that this wasn't a sign of things to come. They'd somehow managed to come to a truce of sorts over the past couple of weeks, playing nice when they had to for professional purposes, and avoiding each other when they could get away with it. Granted, her workdays were a bit more boring than they used to be. Though she'd never admit it, she did occasionally find herself missing their verbal spars.

A buzz from her apartment's intercom interrupted her melancholic reverie, and she couldn't have been more glad. After confirming that the guy in fact claimed to be a delivery guy and not an axe murderer, she pressed the button to let him up, and opened the door to greet him. After a brief moment in which the poor guy tried to juggle the two huge paper bags while digging for her receipt, she took both from him one at a time and set them on the kitchen counter behind her before adding a nice tip and sending him on his way.

She eagerly dug in, pulling out the contents and setting up a lovely little private buffet around her kitchen island. Surveying her handiwork, she considered whether she may have actually outdone herself this time. No way would she be able to eat all these leftovers within a week. Then she shrugged; challenge accepted.

Before she could pull out a plate and dig in, there was a knock at her door.

Curious, and ever-so-slightly on edge since she hadn't buzzed anyone in, she peered out the peephole. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, then sighed and slid the chain out of place and released the deadbolts, pulling the door open to reveal Tristan.

His gaze traveled up her body, and she remembered belatedly that she was wearing her pajamas. She crossed her bare arms self-consciously across her chest and decided to dispense with pleasantries. "What are you doing here?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Nice to see you too, Mary."

So they were back to Mary again. This was a new development. But she was determined not to be sidetracked. "How did you even get in here?"

He gestured over his shoulder. "I caught a delivery guy on his way out."

Rory's eyes narrowed. She was starting to regret that generous tip, if this was the thanks she got from Wah Wok's employees; letting unknown vagrants into her building in the middle of the night. "That still doesn't answer the question of _why_ you're here."

"I have something for you."

"And what might that be?"

"Are you going to let me in?"

She pretended to consider that, then, "Nope, hadn't planned on it."

He took a step forward, and she instinctively moved back to protect her personal space. He took that as the only invitation he needed to move further into her apartment. She watched him glance around the surroundings appraisingly, and then his gaze settled in the kitchen.

His eyes hardened when he turned back to her. My, someone was particularly unpredictable tonight. "Expecting company?" he asked.

"No, why?"

"That's a lot of food," he commented.

"So you just dropped by to insult my eating habits?"

"Come on," he scoffed. "That can't all be for you."

She shifted her weight under his gaze. "I didn't get to eat much at the event, okay?"

He gave her a skeptical look, as if trying to judge whether she was telling the truth.

She gave an annoyed sigh. "Fine, I can admit, it may be a bit much even for me. But you try making a decision between orange and sweet and sour chicken when you've barely had two bites in ten hours."

"I'll take your word for it." He apparently meant that in multiple ways, his earlier consternation forgotten as she caught his eyes straying down from her face again.

"What exactly did you say you're doing here?" she demanded again.

"I told you, I brought you something." He reached into the messenger bag at his side, and she was left in suspense momentarily while he rummaged inside. Then he drew out his computer and held it out to her.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but that hadn't been it. She looked at him in confusion. "You want me to see something on your laptop?"

"This is _your l_ aptop," he corrected. "You must have grabbed the wrong one when you left tonight."

"Oh." She was seemingly having trouble catching up.

"And I assume you have mine," he prompted.

"Right. My briefcase is in my bedroom, one sec." She excused herself to retreat down the hall.

When she reached her room, she had a brief moment of panic, thinking about the bras she had hanging from the shower rod in the master bath, and the books strewn across her bed. But then she reminded herself - no one was going to see her bedroom tonight. She shook off that brief lapse, and beelined for her briefcase to retrieve the laptop. The quicker she brought it back out to Tristan and got him out of her apartment, the better. Although she did double-back and take a moment to shrug into a long-sleeved t-shirt, feeling a need for a bit more armor before facing off again.

"I guess you had pretty good timing," she called as she made her way back into the living space. "I was just about to start - hey!"

Tristan paused to look over at her, an eggroll halfway to his mouth, but then his lips curved in amusement and he defiantly took a bite.

"I don't recall inviting you in for dinner," she admonished. "Or at all, come to think of it. Take your eggroll. Here's your laptop. There's the door."

"I see Chateaux Gilmore spares no expense for hospitality," he remarked. He gave her Chinese food buffet another appraisal. "I didn't get much chance to eat at the event, since your team had it pretty packed to the gills."

She perked up at that, in spite of herself. "It was a nice turnout, wasn't it?"

"That it was," he acknowledged magnanimously. The compliment was, no doubt, meant to be immediately used as leverage, but she'd take it anyway. "Nevertheless, your team kept me so busy that I didn't get to sneak more than two of those tiny chicken skewers."

She gestured to him. "Two chicken skewers and now an eggroll."

"A man can't be expected to survive on such measly portions."

He must've seen her considering him dubiously.

"Are you worried you won't have enough?" he asked wryly.

Fair point. She sighed. "Fine." She headed to the cupboard and pulled out two plates, handing one to him. At least this way, she wouldn't end up with food that would go to waste. How long could it take for him to throw back some Chinese food? Five, maybe ten minutes? Then she could get back to her evening.

"So I think I owe you an apology."

Rory glanced across the island at him, pausing her task of carefully avoiding the peppers while scooping szechuan chicken onto her plate. There was something in his tone that she couldn't quite read. "Probably," she agreed. "What for, do you think?"

Tristan set his plate down and sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "I talked to Nate before I left tonight. He wanted to make sure he had the right address for the office, mentioning that you'd forgotten to exchange cards. He explained that the two of you had been introduced by your friend Lucy. His girlfriend."

Rory covered her brief surprise - she hadn't known that Nate and Lucy had gotten to a labeling stage of their relationship yet. But for Tristan's sake, she lifted her chin and met his eye. "And?"

"Clearly I was wrong about you two."

"Obviously," she acknowledged.

"You're right, it was none of my business to begin with, and then I definitely crossed the line when I implied that… well, you know what I implied."

"Yes, you did." She waited some more, then when he failed to continue, she threw his words back at him. "You know, as apologies go, this one could use some work."

A smile tugged at his lips. "I'm sorry, Rory. I mistook the situation, and I was an asshole about it. I regretted it as soon as I said it. I shouldn't have accused you of something like that."

He at least looked sincere. His legs were stretched in front of him, his arms crossed as he braced his lean frame against her counter. His eyes were clear and earnest, imploring her to forgive him. She cleared her throat and looked away. "Food's getting cold."

Rory took a seat at one of the bar stools on her side of the island, pushing the remaining cartons out of her way to clear room for her plate. Glancing again at Tristan, she reluctantly shoved aside the cartons in the space next to her, too. After a pause, he walked around to take the seat beside her.

They managed to make polite chit-chat while they ate, mostly about work. They started to settle back into their routine of the past two weeks, elegantly dancing around any potential landmine topics in their conversation. She'd begun to think that they were getting good at it, until Tristan's boneheadedness earlier that evening. Still, since he'd apologized and all, she figured they could try to steer things back on track. They talked about the campaign, commiserated over stories from the past week involving their attempts to work with the Creative department, and even partook of some office gossip about one of Panoramic's accountants who had reportedly gotten far too drunk at a recent happy hour.

"I overheard Sergeant Patterson talking about how the proceeds from tonight will go toward a much-needed building expansion to help keep up with growth in the 24th Precinct," Tristan mentioned. "You and your team must be proud of the event."

Rory finished chewing before replying. "It was a successful evening. I'm glad we were able to pull a good turnout, so that you and your team could work the crowd."

 _See, we're being nice. Tip-toe, tip-toe._

Tristan reached across the island to grab a wonton, and as he drew back, Rory's gaze followed. She noticed that he'd rolled his sleeves up his forearms, and as she watched, he reached up to loosen his tie. She found herself wondering why he didn't just take it off completely. Those top buttons at his collar looked a bit constricting; he may as well undo those, too. All for his own comfort, of course. She supposed then that he could just keep on going, unbuttoning a little further down the chest that she knew was firm and muscled. She could help. And while she was at it, she may as well move on down to the button on his pants…

Tristan set down his fork and turned to face her, forcing Rory to blink and rip her attention away. She abruptly pushed back from the counter. "Do you need anything to drink?"

 _Quick, side-step._

"Sure," he replied.

She opened the fridge only to confirm her suspicions that it was woefully empty. She turned back to Tristan. "How's water sound?"

"Water sounds fine."

She filled two glasses with cold water from the refrigerator, then reached across the island to hand one to him. His fingers closed around the glass, brushing hers in the process. He held her eyes, and she watched as his darkened.

 _Evasive maneuver!_

She quickly drew away, and gulped down half of her own glass.

"Got anything stronger?" Tristan asked from his seat across the island.

She turned her back to him to rifle through an upper cabinet, reaching to the back to dig out two bottles, which she held out to Tristan for inspection. "Pick your poison."

She watched him consider his options - a $10 cabernet, or a Glenlivet 15 Year single malt. His gaze came back to her, and he raised an eyebrow. "We know what happened the last time we drank scotch."

 _Uh-oh. Landmine._

She set both bottles down and crossed her arms. "That's right. We do both know what happened."

He stood and began to move toward her. She took a step to the side, mirroring his movement, keeping the island between them. Tristan seemed to note that fact with interest. He leaned against his hands braced on either side of the counter. "Does this mean we're going to talk about what happened? Clear the air?"

"I thought we'd already done that."

"I thought so too, but I've gotta say, it doesn't seem fair for you to keep looking at me the way you were a minute ago."

Damn. So he had noticed. She feigned innocence. "In just what way was I supposedly looking at you?"

"Cut the act, Rory," he admonished. "I got the word from you loud and clear after last time, but given your decision, it would make things a lot easier if you would quit -"

"Wait," she interrupted. She was stuck on something he'd just said. "My decision?"

He held up his hands. "I'm not going to push you on it."

She shook her head. "What do you mean, my decision? When did I reportedly make this so-called decision? Because personally, I don't remember having a chance to make a decision, because you'd clearly already made up your mind about what happened."

"Seeing as you weren't exactly forthcoming with your decision-making process, I had to infer quite a bit, but trust me, I received the message. Loud and clear."

Frustrated, she reached up to smooth her ponytail and wrack her brain. "Tell me what message you received, because I don't get it. What I experienced a couple weeks ago was you running hot and cold, and clearly making some decisions for yourself without bothering to fill me in."

He pointed at himself indignantly. "Me, running hot and cold? What about you? First, you're grabbing me and kissing me. Pretty vehemently, I'd have to say. Then, who knows what happens over the next 62 hours - certainly not me, because I didn't hear a _peep_ from you - but obviously it was something, because the next thing I know, you refuse to even acknowledge me."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "You were the one who started it! You came into my office acting all indifferent, and then before I even knew what was happening, you'd stormed out!"

He shook his head and pointed a finger at her accusatorily. "No, see, you're wrong again. I came there to talk to you, but you made every effort to _only_ talk about work. I gave you the opportunity to bring up what had happened between us, but you refused."

"Excuse me, but this is a two-way street." She gestured furiously between the two of them. "You very well could have been the one to say something."

"I'd already gotten a pretty good sense from you about your feelings on the topic. I came there thinking that I'd at least give you a chance to _explain_ why the hell you'd been avoiding me."

She shook her head. " _I_ was avoiding _you_? How could that be true, when that visit in my office was the very first time you'd even approached me since… well, you know." She'd fizzled out at the end there, and just stood there looking up at him. His gaze was still hard.

"That's not entirely true," he admitted, his voice lowered. "I'd planned to see you earlier."

"Why didn't you?"

He paused with his jaw set, and for a long moment while he looked at her, Rory felt almost triumphant. See, he couldn't even come up with an excuse!

But then he sighed, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. "I saw you dive behind a file cabinet to avoid me in the hallway, so that's pretty much when I figured out that you weren't interested in a repeat."

Her heart dropped into her stomach. He wasn't supposed to have seen that.

Her voice came out much more meek than she'd hoped. "I didn't dive."

"You did a pretty convincing interpretation. If I were an Olympic judge, you'd have earned an 8.2." He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes daring her to contradict.

"Maybe I dove, a little," she confessed. "But come on, we were in the middle of the office! Didn't you stop to think that maybe I just wasn't ready, right then?"

He scoffed. "It's not a test. You don't have to study for it."

It was becoming more difficult for her to hold his gaze, but she didn't want to be the one to back down. "I wasn't sure what it meant, and where we were supposed to go from there."

"So instead, you chose avoidance."

She wished she could contradict him again, but he had her against a wall. "I guess so."

"And yet you say _I'm_ the one who hasn't outgrown my teenage tendencies?" he asked.

She was quiet for a moment, considering. "Nope," she decided. "No clue what that's supposed to mean."

He swore under his breath, pushing himself away from the counter to pace angrily across her living room. "You are so frustrating!"

"Tell me about it!" she yelled back with equal fervor.

"Are you agreeing that you're frustrating?" he asked, confusion apparently overshadowing his vexation.

"No, I'm saying that I feel the same way about you." She crossed her arms, leaning against his vacated side of the counter.

"I doubt that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nevermind." He sighed. "I meant, I should've known better than to think that you could possibly agree with me on anything."

"What are we even talking about here?" she asked, attempting to get on even footing.

"Nothing," he answered. "We're talking in circles about nothing, which is all we've been doing for the past two weeks."

"For two people who work in communications, I guess we kind of suck at it."

He raised an eyebrow. " _Now_ you're agreeing with me?"

"Don't get used to it," she warned.

"I wouldn't dare."

"So are you ready to admit that this particular miscommunication between us was, in fact, your fault?"

He made an exasperated noise. "Of course not, because it was clearly not my fault, but was in fact yours!"

She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "When you came into my office-"

"I had already seen you dive headfirst into the file room!"

"I wouldn't have had to, if you had given me any kind of clue before that! An email, a call, a text, a smoke signal, anything!" she cried, throwing her hands up to emphasize her point.

"You were the one who pointed out that this is a two-way street, so I know you can't be placing all the blame on me. Might I remind you that I didn't hear a word from you on the matter, either. Given your reaction history to my unsolicited attention, you can imagine why I may have been hesitant to make any assumptions."

They had drawn closer to each other during the argument, despite the fact that their voices had continued to rise. "So you dumped all the assumptions on me!" she argued. "Not a super fun burden, especially since you are one of the most mercurial people I've ever known!"

His eyes were stormy as he looked down at her, and they stayed suspended like that for several beats. It was long enough for Rory to start to notice his light five o'clock shadow, and to notice that a muscle in his jaw was working again. Despite herself, her gaze fell to his lips.

"I shouldn't have come here tonight." He interrupted her with his statement, and she dragged her attention back to his eyes, but he was already turning away.

"I'm glad you did," she said softly.

His eyes flashed like lightning, and he froze. He reversed his path to the door, taking a step closer to her. Then another. Before she knew it, her head was tipped back to look at him, and she could feel the warmth of his body just inches away.

"Is that so?"

She inexplicably broke out in goose bumps, noticing that his voice had dropped in timbre. "I wouldn't have gotten far in my mountains of work without my laptop," she murmured.

His gaze hardened again, and then left her as he turned back toward the door. She swallowed hard, unexpectedly fighting a wave of disappointment that overtook the small amount of relief she found in having dissuaded his attention, again. Her hand, the traitorous one, reached out to grab hold of his arm.

"That's not all," she admitted.

He reluctantly met her eyes once more, though his expression was not one of unlimited patience.

"This is hard for me." She spoke slowly, peeking up at him to judge his expression. Finding it to be decidedly not pleased yet also not completely off-putting, she continued tentatively. "I'm not used to not having a plan. This thing between us, I… I was waiting to see how you reacted first, so I could plan my reaction accordingly."

"And you thought that my reaction was what exactly?"

She fidgeted under his intense scrutiny. "Well, that day in my office, it sure seemed like it was something very akin to regret."

She looked up at his silence to find his brow furrowed. "Why would I regret it?" he asked, seemingly flabbergasted.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Because we work together, so it will make things awkward?"

"I guess that's probably true, but I've never had the best judgement when it comes to you. Not like that," he quickly amended when he saw her expression. "It's just… how could you possibly think that my reaction would be anything but positive?"

She blinked. "I figured maybe it was just another of your attempts to push my buttons, like when we were in school."

He shook his head, his jaw clenched. "See, this is why you're so frustrating. Don't you get it?"

"Get what?"

"I was never just trying to 'push buttons'," he insisted. "While I admit, back then I may not have been the best at sincerity - I hadn't had much exposure to such behavior at that point in my life - I was still serious about it. About you."

She cocked her head. "What are you saying? You _liked_ me? Like, _liked_ liked me?"

He gave her an amused smile. "I guess so."

"Oh." She paused, still reeling.

"That's it?" he demanded. "Oh?"

"Sorry, there's just a montage playing in my head, of all the scenes of us from back then." And from more recently, though she wouldn't say that yet. She was thrown off-balance, seeing everything in a different light.

"You've got to give me something more to go on than 'oh'."

"Oooo-kay?" Her words - or, more accurately, word - may have been less than he was hoping for, but when her lips curved in the beginnings of a smile as she looked up at him, and she noticed him visibly relax.

"Okay," he repeated.

"So what does that mean for us now?" She surprised herself by being so forthright, but judging by Tristan's reaction, he didn't mind.

He reached between them and pinched the loose fabric of her t-shirt over her stomach, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him. "I'm hoping that's what we're about to find out."

He leaned down to kiss her then, just a brush of his lips against hers. He lingered there before pulling away, but kept his grip on her shirt. She noticed that her own hands had come up to grip his forearms - she was really going to need to start to be concerned if they kept moving of their own accord like that.

Her heart was beating embarrassingly fast at the simplest of touches. She let out a shaky breath.

"I suppose I should let you get to that mountain of work you mentioned," he said. "Especially since I have the same waiting for me."

"That's it?" she asked.

His lips turned up at the hint of disappointment in her tone. "For now."

He'd loosened his grip on her, so she took a small step back and smoothed her hair.

"Are we on the same page now?" he asked.

She gave him a small smile. Her only answer was to lean in again, reaching her hand up to his shoulder to steady herself, and return his kiss. She searched his face when she pulled away, noticing that his eyes had turned to a warm cobalt again. That was quickly becoming her favorite color.

"Good," he murmured, with a healthy amount of self-satisfaction.

She leaned against the door after seeing him out. The evening had certainly taken a turn, and while she was still struggling to process the onslaught of thoughts and feelings after that exchange, she was also unable to wipe the smile off her face. She had no idea what this meant, especially for their working relationship, but she supposed she was game to find out.

She sighed, knowing that she really did need to attend to said mountains of work before the night was through. She picked up her laptop and was about to settle in on the couch when her phone chirped with an incoming text. She retrieved it from the kitchen counter and opened the latest message.

 **Tristan** :  
 _Still no regrets. FYI._

Her smile grew wider at his note. As she settled into the couch with her laptop, she found herself with a newly heightened awareness of how many times Tristan's name appeared within her emails, project plans, and press releases, serving to emphasize the inextricable nature of their current professional lives. She forced herself to ignore the creeping apprehension, deciding to live for at least a little while in the world of optimism, even if it shared a zip code with naivete. Just because they'd opened a door to complication, that didn't mean that things would automatically end up in flames.


	9. If She Knew What She Wants

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** Thank you for the lovely faves, follows, and reviews, folks! I'm so glad there are still active Trory fans out there. ;-)

There was originally going to be one more lengthy scene here, but it's fighting me, so I need more time with it. Hopefully no one minds that I'm throwing this shorter chapter up in the meantime.

 **Chapter 9 - If She Knew What She Wants**

"So wait, who is this guy again?"

Rory sighed in frustration, having tried to explain this at least twice already. "Do you remember when I was in _Romeo and Juliet_ at Chilton? When you made those amazing Renaissance headpieces?"

Lorelai narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Stop trying to change the subject with weird, decade-old flattery."

"I'm not changing the subject!" she insisted. "He was Romeo!"

"No, Paris was Romeo. I distinctly remember that, since she yelled at me because the tunic was made out of a polyester blend, which wasn't historically accurate. I tried to tell her, the store had had a run on cotton and linen because Andrew's toga party was that same weekend."

"Paris had to step in as Romeo, because Tristan fell through at the last minute," she reminded.

Lorelai squinted into the distance, as if that would help clarify the memory.

"You can remember the polyester blend, but not what was, at the time, a seemingly important event in your daughter's life?"

Lorelai snapped her fingers. "A-ha! I remember this now, kind of. I thought there was some sort of drama over the original Romeo being a guy you had accidentally kissed at a party, and therefore could never ever see again."

Rory gave her mother a pointed look and made a rolling motion with her hand.

Lorelai's eyes widened in recognition. "That was him? Same guy?"

"One and the same."

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Lorelai began. "You hated him in high school, but you kissed him, and now-"

"I didn't hate him," she interrupted.

"You didn't get along."

"That's more accurate," she acknowledged. "I thought he was teasing me."

"But he wasn't?"

Rory reconsidered. "Well, I guess he still was."

"But now you like it? And him?"

"I wouldn't go that far, necessarily," she backtracked.

"So you don't like him? But you're seeing each other? See, now I'm confused again!" Lorelai lamented.

"I don't not like him. And we're not _seeing_ each other," Rory corrected.

"Sure, that clears things up," her mother retorted.

"We work together. It's complicated."

Lorelai made a not-so-stealthy grab across the table for Rory's phone. "Here, let me change your relationship status. I've always wanted an excuse to use 'It's Complicated'."

She barely managed to block the interception, then tucked her phone safely into her purse. "I can think of several situations in your life in which you could have used that status for yourself."

"Hey!" Lorelai cried indignantly.

"Sorry. But no, there are no status changes in my future. It's not like we're exactly advertising the relationship. We work together. We're keeping things on the down-low."

"But you admit that it's a relationship!"

"I don't know what it is. It's not a ' _relationship',_ " she emphasized, complete with air quotes.

"Oooh, now I get it. I know what this is." Her mother waggled her eyebrows. "Can't keep your hands off each other, huh?"

Rory sighed and put her face in her hands. This had become a much more exhausting and confusing conversation than she ever could have imagined. She was definitely going to need more coffee. "Hey, Luke?"

He spun around to see her pointing to her nearly-empty mug, and held up a finger while he wrapped up his phone call with his meat supplier.

"You can't use Luke as a way to avoid this conversation," Lorelai told her. "That stopped working when we got married. It was in the vows. Thou shalt not distract mother/daughter conversations."

"I was there. I was standing right next to you," Rory reminded her. "All I remember hearing in your vows was something about him keeping you in coffee. That, and all the love stuff."

"Hmm, speaking of." Lorelai frowned at her own empty cup. "Hey, Luuuke!"

"Keep your pants on," Luke snarked from right beside them.

"Huh, that's not what you were saying last-"

Rory threw her hands over hear ears protectively while Luke interrupted with a loud "Stop that!"

"Besides," Lorelai continued. "It's Rory you should be telling that to. She has a new boyfriend and they can't keep their hands off each other."

"I do not need to hear this," Luke grumbled. Though he couldn't keep his look of distaste off his face, he begrudgingly refilled both their mugs from a fresh pot before making his hasty retreat.

"He's not my boyfriend!" Rory insisted. "And excuse me, we're not wild animals. We have self-restraint."

"Uh-oh. Tell me my daughter is not too old to have a boyfriend. If you start claiming that he's your 'man friend', I'm going to need to run home and spend the rest of the afternoon pulling gray hairs."

"I'm not too old to have a boyfriend, thank you very much, but Tristan isn't it. He's my coworker," she stressed again.

"Oh, right," Lorelai mused. "I guess it's good you have that self-restraint, then. I bet it's frowned upon to play footsie in the middle of the conference room."

"Right." Rory averted her eyes and took a sip of her fresh coffee.

"Oh my God." Lorelai slapped her hand on the tabletop, drawing the glances of a few other patrons. "You totally played footsie in the conference room."

"Of course I didn't," Rory scoffed.

She could only hope that her mother couldn't see the heat rising to her cheeks. While there had been no footsie, and though she would never admit it, she was definitely beginning to find it a bit more difficult to concentrate in meetings. It had only been about a week since she and Tristan had hashed things out over late-night Chinese. Since then, they'd barely had any time to be alone together, unless you counted a handful of times at the office. Even those few moments had been awkward. There was an undeniable chemistry there, which suddenly made the small space seem ten degrees warmer, but it was clear they were both trying to feel out where the line was drawn in the sand. And of course, them being them, neither one would concede to an open discussion about it.

This changed dynamic between them was still new, and they hadn't quite found the right balance yet between personal and professional. Sure, the innuendos may have taken on a new depth. The verbal sparring was back on-point. There had even been some texts. She suppressed a smile at the memory of their most recent exchange.

Lorelai cleared her throat pointedly, jarring Rory out of her thoughts. "Quit daydreaming about Romeo, you'll have plenty of time for that later. You've been remiss in telling me about your life lately, and I'm not letting you off the hook."

"Gee, I wonder why I don't tell you things." Rory gave her mother a pointed look.

"Fine, fine. If I drop the bone - and ignore that pun lying right there - then can we please talk more about my only daughter's big fancy Manhattan job?"

Rory rolled her eyes but nevertheless steered the conversation back to safer shores. Since she'd been spending too much time lately dwelling on personal thoughts at work, it only seemed fitting to spend her personal time talking about her job.

* * *

HAVING JUST FINISHED proofing her three-hundred-thousandth press release of the day, Rory decided that she'd earned a break. She stood from her desk and stretched her arms over her head, feeling her neck pop, and brought them back down with a contented sigh. Time for coffee.

She moseyed down the hall and rapped her knuckles on the frame of the open door. "Knock, knock."

Macy looked up from her computer screen and grinned. "Hey, boss. I just sent you another batch of releases for the California papers."

"Super. Just when I was feeling accomplished at having finished sloughing my way through the heap that had piled up in my inbox."

"You don't have to read them all," Macy reminded her.

"I know, I just like staying on top of all the press communications."

Macy cocked her head in curiosity. "Do you miss it? Being one of the press, I mean?"

"I'm not sure," she answered, as honestly as she could. She felt put on the spot. That was a larger question for deeper contemplation at a later date.

"Fair enough," Macy acknowledged. "So, what brings you to darken my doorstep on this lovely afternoon?"

"I need coffee."

"What else is new?" Despite her snide remark, Macy was already reaching to grab her purse.

"Starbucks?" Rory offered.

"Do you even have to ask?"

She smiled. The caffeine craving was one of several things the two had in common, and this was definitely not their first afternoon jaunt for a much-needed fix. Though the corporate coffee conglomerate was not typically Rory's first choice, it was very conveniently located right across the street, and still knocked the socks off the coffee from the break room or even the building's cafeteria.

On their walk over, Macy gave her a preview of the press releases that awaited her. Rory listened in amusement while her teammate waxed poetic. Pride in their work was another thing they had in common.

"I mean, I don't have to tell you, of course, but I just can't stop thinking about it - if we can really get a foothold in California's sustainability market, just think of what that would mean for the national campaign," Macy gushed.

"I know," Rory replied, amused. She did know, but she let Macy go on anyway, understanding the need to geek out every now and then.

"But _really_ think about it. First the _New York Times,_ then _LA_! Coast to coast coverage! You've already got Dean Banquet eating out of the palm of your hand, and Jim Kirk could be not far behind!"

"Are we talking Shatner or Pine?" Rory teased. "Because the former, no thanks, but the latter… I could get on board with."

"Don't pretend you don't idolize editors just as much as you do Captains of the Enterprise," Macy chastised.

"Hey now, I was joking. I definitively do _not_ idolize anything related to the Enterprise," she corrected, lest there be any misunderstanding. "Besides, Dean Banquet is definitely not 'eating out of my hand'."

"But he does know your name," Macy reminded.

"Yeah," Rory sighed. Her voice came out wistful, like a schoolgirl with a crush.

She snapped out of her stupor when she realized they'd made it to the front of the line, and the barista behind the counter was giving her an ever-so-polite impatient smile. She stepped up to order, waving Macy away when she tried to pay for her own beverage. They retreated to the opposite side of the bar to wait for their drinks before Rory turned back.

"So who are we pandering to at the _LA Times_ these days, anyway?" she asked.

"The usual suspects," Macy replied. "Natalie Kitroeff, Ronald White, and Bettina Boxall; economy, business profiles, and environment."

"Let's add to that list whoever runs Sunday narrative, and a culture writer."

"You got it, boss. You're the expert."

"I just know that it never hurts to make broad strokes," Rory answered. "Writers get busy, and I won't let TerraSync slip through the cracks of the newsroom."

She remembered her long days - and nights - spent at the _Star Tribune_ and how many press releases made their way across her inbox daily. She had always made it a point to stay organized and on top of them, but knew for a fact that her colleagues didn't always go to such efforts. There was something about chasing a deadline for an article that could make a writer develop tunnel-vision. It could indeed be distracting; the thrill of the pressure, the race to submit, and then the euphoric feeling at having delivered a spectacular story just under the wire. Email was often the last thing on anyone's mind.

"You really do miss it, don't you?" Macy asked, studying Rory's profile while she reminisced.

"I guess sometimes I do," Rory admitted. "Don't get me wrong, I love my current job. I'm not quite sure yet how much of that is just because it's TerraSync, and I'm passionate about the project, versus how much is the actual role of PR itself. As much as I enjoy our team meetings, and working with clients, and working to _make_ the news and not just report it… there really is nothing like a newsroom."

"Just do me a favor and don't leave us yet, okay, boss?" Macy asked.

Rory knew she was mostly joking, but there was also a tinge of worry in Macy's eyes that she wanted to put at ease.

"Of course not," she emphasized. "I'm here for the long haul. This campaign is going to kick ass, and I'm not going to let you lot take all the credit."

Macy grinned. "Glad to hear it."

They swiped their drinks from the counter, and Rory tipped her cup to Macy's in a mini-salute. "Now let's get back to the salt mines. Press inquiries wait for no man."

On her way back to her office after bidding goodbye to Macy near the elevator, Rory heard her name called from behind her. She turned to see Janet Carlson striding quickly toward her.

"It's great to see you, Janet," she greeted warmly.

"You too. I'm sorry we haven't seen much of each other these days, but it's been a bit crazy for me. You know how it is, I'm sure."

"That I do," she acknowledged. She barely seen Janet since she accepted her position at Panoramic, and thinking back, Rory couldn't decide whether she was blown away that it had _already_ been almost two months, or that it had _only_ been almost two months.

"Time flies when you're having fun, right?" Janet joked. "And you are, I hope? Having fun?"

"I am," Rory confirmed. "Thank you again so much for introducing me to the opportunity. I'm excited to be a part of the campaign."

"I've heard good things about what you and Tristan are doing together."

Rory blushed at the unknown hidden meaning of Janet's words, as well as at the compliment. "Thank you."

"In fact, I was just coming to find you. Both of you, actually."

"Oh?" Now she was intrigued.

"I have a favor to ask of you and Tristan," Janet revealed. She glanced at her watch, and grimaced. "And I hate to ask a favor and run, but that's what I'll need to do. In fact, can you pass the word along to him for me?"

"Sure," Rory nodded. "What can we do for you?"

"Panoramic is a Platinum Sponsor for a charity dinner being held on Saturday night in support of Children's Hospital," Janet led.

"Oh, you want us to pull together some press releases? Maybe a few print and radio spots?" Rory guessed.

Janet laughed. "No, no, nothing like that. That's all being taken care of, and I wouldn't want to bother you two with that. You have your hands full with TerraSync. However, seeing as TerraSync is a high-profile campaign right now - in no small part thanks to you - Panoramic would love for you and Tristan to attend the dinner as our representatives."

Rory tried not to let her surprise show on her face. "That's… great! Wow. We'd be honored."

Janet chuckled. "I appreciate that. I'm sure it's not your first choice for how to spend your Saturday night, but I hear they'll be serving their famous chocolate lava cake for dessert, and hopefully it won't be a total bore."

Rory smiled gamely. "Of course not. It'll be wonderful, and we really are happy to attend on Panoramic's behalf."

"Thanks so much, Rory," Janet said, looking relieved. She glanced at her watch again. "You'll tell Tristan? I've got to run, I'm so sorry."

"No problem, I'll let him know."

"Thanks again! And again, great job with everything." With that, she turned away and raced to catch the elevator before the doors closed.

Figuring there was no time like the present, Rory switched directions to head to Tristan's office rather than her own. She found his door closed, so she knocked and was rewarded with a gruff yell of "What?"

Seeing as it wasn't entirely a lack of permission to enter, she took the liberty of opening the door and slipping through, pulling it closed behind her. "Who pissed in your Cheerios, Sunshine?"

"Jensen" he ground out, barely looking up from his computer.

"Ah." She nodded knowingly. She should have known - Tim Jensen, Panoramic's Creative Director, was notorious for being an arrogant asshole, and for his lack of control of his team. They'd been having increasing difficulties with the Creative team for weeks. "What now?"

Tristan pushed away from his desk and leaned back in his chair, running his hand along the back of his neck. "They're now saying that they need an extra day to finish our footage for the TV spot."

"It needs to be to the networks by 10pm Saturday if we have any hope of asking them to run it on Sunday."

"I know," he said. "That's what I told Tim, but he insists that his team will have it there on time."

"That's cutting it pretty close."

After a last long, contemptuous look at his computer, he sighed and stood from his chair, coming around his desk and perching on the edge. "Forget about it. I'll deal with it later. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

She smiled. "Couldn't I just be dropping in to say 'hey'?"

"You could," he acknowledged, but gave her a knowing look. "But you never have before."

Rory shrugged and gave him a 'guilty-as-charged' face, then confessed. "I ran into Janet in the hall and she asked me to pass a message along."

"Am I going to like this message? Or should I go back to dealing with Jensen?"

"Apparently she and the rest of the leadership team have volunteered us - volun-told us, I guess - to put in some face time at a charity dinner this weekend."

The look on his face told her exactly how pleased he was with that sentiment. "You couldn't get us out of it?"

"How was I supposed to have done that?"

"Come on," he admonished. "You grew up in the society set. You should be well-versed enough by now in the art of dodging social engagements."

"I've never been very good at saying no."

"I think you're better at it than you give yourself credit for."

"It won't be that bad," she consoled. "It's one night. A few hours. No biggie."

"I don't suppose we have much of a choice, do we?"

"Nope. Saturday night. I don't know many of the details yet, but I'm sure we'll be filled in."

"What a waste of a Saturday night." His face still showed his great displeasure with the idea.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm sure you were going to be working anyway. At least this way, your work obligations come with champagne and tiny food."

"Not true, I had other plans for the weekend." He gave her an appraising look as his gaze slid down her body, leading her mind to fall into the gutter while she imagined what plans he could be referring to. A ghost of a smile began to take the place of his irritation.

"Oh? Had a hot date lined up, did you?" she asked, studiously ignoring the effect he had on her in hopes that it would go away. Or at least simmer down.

"It wasn't quite lined up yet, but the idea was percolating."

"Wow. Whoever she is, she sounds like a lucky girl, to have the idea of a weekend date 'percolating' on a Wednesday afternoon," she remarked sarcastically. "How do you know she wouldn't have already had plans, anyhow?"

"Because she's a workaholic."

"So you both have equally unhealthy social lives?"

"That's what makes it work."

She raised an eyebrow. "Who says it's going to work?"

"Is it?" he asked cockily, with a raised eyebrow right back at her. He pushed off his desk to take a couple steps closer. "What do you say? You and me, Saturday night. We'll skip out on dessert at this charity dinner and go for drinks instead."

"Janet said they were serving chocolate lava cake for dessert. Apparently it's famous," she countered.

"You won't miss it," he told her, his dark blue eyes glittering. "Trust me."

She couldn't help but return the smile he now wore. "Fine."

He broke out a full grin. "It's a date."

"It's also work," she reminded him.

"We'll make sure the evening isn't a total waste," he promised.

"Chocolate lava cake is a lot to live up to."

"Don't worry, I'm up for the challenge."

She blushed at his look that was quickly turning lascivious, and decided it was time to redirect her sudden nervous energy back to work. She tried to leave him with a pithy remark on her way to the door. "We'll see about that on Saturday, I suppose."

"Wait a second." He reached for her hand and pulled her back gently, away from the frosted glass of the door where they could see dark blurs of people moving about the hall.

He drew her closer and looked down at her, now just inches away. "Hey."

"Hey," she whispered back tentatively.

This was now one of those moments when the small office suddenly felt too confined for the heat between them. The air grew more stifling by the second, and just when she thought for sure she would break out in a sweat, he leaned in and kissed her. She could no longer think about the temperature, or the office; the scope of her thoughts narrowed rapidly to the feel of his lips on hers.

This kiss was slow, almost lazy. They took their time exploring, testing each other, both unwilling to take it too deep, still unsure of where the line was drawn. When he pulled away, her eyelids fluttered open to look up at him.

"What was that for?"

"Do I need an excuse?" he asked.

"We're in the office," she whispered, sounding scandalized.

"I'm aware," he acknowledged, seemingly unphased.

She knew she should probably step back now, but her hand was having trouble letting go of his arm. "You can't just go around kissing people in the office."

"Not people," he corrected. "Just you."

"It's distracting," she admitted.

His smile only widened. "Tell me about it. That was all I could think about when we were meeting with Derek earlier."

She finally managed to withdraw from him and crossed her arms in front of her. "Don't you think we should have a rule or something? Boundaries?"

"Do you need a rule?" he asked with interest.

"I just think it would probably help make this a little less complicated."

"What's complicated?"

She raised her eyebrows at him in disbelief. "You just said it yourself. We can't be distracted like this when we have a campaign to focus on."

"So are you talking 'good complicated', or 'bad complicated'?" he asked, moving to mirror her stance, his mouth starting to set into a hard line.

She sighed, letting her arms fall back to her side while she considered. "Not bad," she decided.

He didn't look very appeased. "But not good, either?"

She pressed her lips together, unable to meet his eyes. If she listened to her inner voice screaming at her, she would have to say that the complicated moment between them a minute ago had been nothing but _very good_. All of their complicated moments to date, in fact, would fall into the same category. The rational side of her, however, had a bone to pick.

"Got it." Tristan took her prolonged silence at face value. He'd closed himself off again, and his tone was curt. "Won't happen again."

"Wait," she blurted, trying to backtrack. She stepped into the chasm between them and reached out to rest her hand on his forearm. They seemed to communicate better when physical touch was involved.

"This back-and-forth thing is getting old, Rory," he warned.

"I know. I'm sorry, I just..." She shook her head in confusion.

"You need to make up your mind."

"I have," she insisted. "I did. I haven't changed it."

"You could have fooled me."

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She stepped closer to him, and made an effort to remove the filter of her pesky rational thoughts. "I didn't mean that I wanted to back out of this. That's not what I want. It's just confusing for me."

"What's confusing?" he demanded.

She tried to answer as honestly as she could, and surprised herself with her forthrightness. "I'm just having trouble separating the man who I'm attracted to from the man I work with. And from the boy I used to know."

"I'm only one person." He gestured at himself as if to prove a point. "What you see is pretty much what you get."

Now there was a laughable statement. Tristan was easily one of the most difficult people to read that she'd ever met. Rather than get into that, she just shrugged.

"At least you can admit that you're attracted to me," he noted, a hint of his previous teasing tone coming back.

"I didn't think that part was in question." She blushed, thinking about her body's reactions to his touch that surely couldn't have gone unnoticed.

"Still doesn't hurt to hear it."

She smiled in spite of their tense conversation. "I didn't think your ego needed any stroking."

"I think you misunderstand the effect you have on my ego."

She risked a glance up at him, wondering if they had successfully rounded the corner back into friendly territory. "Can we just rewind over the past minute?"

"So you want to strike the fact that you're attracted to me from the record, but go back to when I kissed you?"

She let out a small breath of relief. He was teasing her again. This, she knew; this, she could handle. "I think we can consider your ego fully stroked by now."

"I'm sure me and my ego can at least make it to Saturday night," he agreed. He gave her an expectant look. "Are we still on?"

She nodded her confirmation and gave his forearm a parting squeeze before she retreated to the door, somewhat relieved that he didn't follow her this time. "I'll see you then."

His lips quirked up in a sideways smile. "And in twenty minutes at the budget meeting."

"Right. That, too."

She drew in a deep, cleansing breath on her way back down the hall. See, this wasn't awkward at all.


	10. Direction to Perfection

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** Thanks as always for reading, following, and reviewing. Next chapter will be up in a week!

 **Chapter 10 - Direction to Perfection**

 _It's for the children_ , Rory reminded herself for the fourth or fifth time that evening. _You're not being tortured, you're eating tilapia_. _Suck it up_.

It had been awhile since she'd responded to her dinnermates, so she gave another smile-and-nod. That ought to tide her over for another sixty seconds or so, and she could continue to zone out. Mr. and Mrs. Seever were going on twenty minutes in their explanation of their high-school daughter's gymnastics competition, and Rory didn't really need to know that much about handsprings. Come to think of it, until tonight she would have been certain there wasn't so much that one _could_ possibly know about handsprings.

Her gaze flicked over again to Tristan, seated on the opposite side of her and engaged in a separate conversation with the other side of their table. She might be semi-upset that he was useless in helping her to extricate herself from the unwelcome Gymnastics for Dummies lecture, except for the fact that she'd been using his preoccupation to her advantage all through their main course to sneak glances at him. Their gazes had collided a couple times, and he'd even flashed her a wink on one such occasion.

Just then, though, he gave her a much less appealing gesture when he kicked her lightly under the table. She jolted, wondering what had gotten into him; he was still engrossed in his conversation. It was then that he realized that her side of the table had gone quiet, apparently awaiting a response from her.

She felt heat rise to her cheeks as she realized she was caught. She leaned in a little closer, covering. "Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you for a second over the music. What was that?"

Mrs. Seever, thankfully oblivious to Rory's wandering thoughts, repeated herself, raising her voice slightly. "Sorry, dear. We asked, were you involved in any sports in high school?"

Next to her, Tristan made a choking sound and covered by clearing his throat. Out of the corner of her eyes, Rory saw him move his fingers in front of his mouth to hide his smile, using the guise of intense interest in his conversation as he pretended not to be eavesdropping. She returned his kick under the table while she answered the Seevers.

"No, sports of any kind have never really been my forte," she confessed.

"So tell us, what was more your cup of tea?" Mrs. Seever asked.

"Writing," she answered easily. "I was on the newspaper staff in high school. That was my only extracurricular activity, unless you count growing up in a small town, which was kind of an activity of its own."

"Newspaper staff," Mr. Seever observed. "So I guess the media has always been in your blood. No wonder you ended up in public relations."

They'd covered the basics earlier in the evening, with Rory and Tristan having proudly discussed - and shamelessly plugged - the TerraSync campaign. Given the passion with which she'd talked about her job, she could see why they may have gathered that it was her intended career choice.

"I had never actually considered that I might end up in PR," she admitted.

"Oh?" Mrs. Seever leaned in, interested. "Why's that?"

"I'd just always pictured myself as a reporter," she clarified. "I was going to be a foreign correspondent."

"That sounds exciting," Mr. Seever noted.

She nodded, smiling. "That's what I thought. As I grew up, though, and found my way in the industry, I really started to develop a passion for local news. It made me feel so connected to the community I lived in."

"So what brought you to your current role, then?"

She shrugged. "Just the typical twists and turns that come with any career, I guess. I was laid off due to budget cuts at my old paper, and with print media still struggling, there weren't a lot of other dailies hiring. I was introduced to this opportunity, and it seemed like it was worth a try, at least."

Rory caught motion out of the corner of her eye as Tristan reached for his water glass, and his gaze skittered away when she caught it in her own.

"Do you think you'll ever go back to reporting?" Mrs. Seever questioned.

"Um," Rory started, reaching for her own water glass. "I'm really not sure, at this point."

Mr. Seever hooked his arm around the back of his wife's chair. "Let's not subject the poor girl to the Inquisition, Rosie," he chastised.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," Mrs. Seever rushed, looking apologetically at Rory. "I don't mean to pry. I tend to get ahead of myself, sometimes."

"It's okay," Rory assured with an easy smile. She was grateful for Mr. Seever's diversion, not necessarily wanting to dive any deeper into the topic of her future plans, since she was still having trouble picturing her life after the TerraSync campaign ended. Her work had kept her busy enough that she hadn't had much time to think about it, though she knew she'd need to sooner or later, and just the thought of that impending deadline was stressing her out.

Rory leaned back as a waiter cleared her plate from the table. The music had started to pick up, and she noted that the tables around them were beginning to disperse as couples headed to the dance floor.

"If you both will excuse me, I'm going to visit the Ladies'," Mrs. Seever spoke. "Ron, why don't you be a gentleman and invite this young woman for a dance?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine, really," Rory insisted quickly.

"Nonsense, dear," Mrs. Seever clucked. She gave her husband a none-too-subtle look as she departed.

Mr. Seever stood and extended his hand gallantly. "May I?"

Not seeing a way to refuse, Rory pasted on what she hoped could pass for a smile and took his hand, allowing herself to be led out to the dance floor. She self-consciously used her free hand to smooth away any potential wrinkles in her dress. She'd noticed belatedly while she was getting ready for the evening that the fabric was a tad too clingy, but it had been too late to find something else. She had been excited to have an excuse to finally wear the dress that had been languishing in the back of her closet; she'd originally been attracted to the lovely dark lavender shade when she'd seen it on the mannequin, and when she had noted that it was on sale, she'd taken it home on impulse, figuring she'd have the chance to use it eventually. It had taken almost a year. The dress closely hugged her figure, hitting just above the knee, so wasn't appropriate for truly formal or more professional occasions - particularly given the bare back - but she'd figured she could get away with it for tonight's semi-formal dinner. Especially when the only person from work that she had to impress was Tristan, and she'd sensed from the way his eyes had darkened when he'd picked her up earlier that evening that he was plenty impressed.

Mr. Seever steered them into position in the middle of the floor, surrounded by couples moving gracefully around them. Rory gulped.

"I should tell you that I'm not the most graceful creature," she admitted. "That's a big part of the reason that I've stuck with indoor activities rather than sports."

He grinned good-naturedly. "Don't you worry. Rosie and I took dancing lessons before our wedding, and it's a skill that's come in surprisingly handy over the years."

"I can imagine," Rory laughed nervously.

"Don't tell her I told you that," he said conspiratorially.

Mr. Seever clasped one of her hands in his and used the other to move her hand to rest on his shoulder. He then rested his other hand lightly on her back. No sooner had they begun to move than Rory felt his foot under hers, and she cringed.

He merely chuckled. "Why don't you let me lead?"

"Sorry," she muttered. She looked down at their feet studiously, trying to avoid any further incident. She made an effort to listen to the music and choreograph her movements accordingly.

"Miss Gilmore," Mr. Seever interrupted her thoughts. "This is not an activity that requires so much intense thought."

She lifted her eyes to his and saw the laughter in them. She sighed. "I'm no good at this."

"Nonsense. You just need to learn how to give up some control."

"See, I've never been good at that, either."

"Just follow me. I won't lead you astray," he promised.

She couldn't help but return his warm smile. "I'll try."

True to her word, she took a deep breath and tried to relax. She started to notice that she could feel gentle pressure from Mr. Seever's hand over hers, indicating when he was about to step forward, and she could match him with a step back. Soon, they were gliding together across the floor. She couldn't say it was completely effortless; she still had a couple of missteps, but he graciously ignored them and continued to direct her movements to the music.

"This isn't so bad," she noted.

He grinned at her. "I tried to tell you."

"Touche, Mr. Seever."

He chuckled again, and then she saw his eyes focus over her shoulder. "I think our time together is about to be cut short."

She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Tristan sidle up next to them. "I'm sorry to interrupt. May I please borrow Rory?"

"She's all yours," Mr. Seever replied. "Have fun, kids." With one last smile at her, he trailed back to their table to retrieve his wife.

Tristan placed his hand on her back, and she she shivered, though she wasn't cold. His touch on her bare skin had a very different effect than Mr. Seever's. "I need to see you outside for a minute."

"Oh," she blinked. "I thought you were cutting in for a dance."

He looked down at her, and she noticed that he was tense, though his lips twitched. "Believe me, I'd love to dance with you, but right now we need to talk."

She followed him quickly out of the ballroom and down the empty hall, letting the music and drone of voices give way to quiet before he turned to face her.

"What's wrong?" she demanded, noting that his jaw was set.

"We have a problem."

Her mind immediately began cataloguing all of the possible scenarios for his consternation, and landed fairly quickly on one that had been on her mind for the past few days. "Did the Creative team miss the deadline for the video footage submittal to the networks?" she guessed.

"Surprisingly, no," Tristan answered. "They sent it over a couple of hours ago."

"Then what is it?"

Tristan sighed. "Apparently one of the client manufacturing sites that has been involved in the TerraSync pilot implementation had to recently let go their Production Manager due to sexual harassment claims. He was none too happy about it, and he went blabbing to a reporter."

Rory tensed, and she could feel some adrenaline starting to kick in. "The press will have a field day just with 'sexual harassment' and 'TerraSync' in the same context. With all the coverage the campaign has had lately, people recognize the name, so any drama that they can dig up will be fuel that they'd love to add to the fire just to increase views and circulation."

Tristan nodded. "And that's not all."

Her heart sank. "What else?"

"This ex-employee, a Mr. Gary Lowell, apparently also disparaged TerraSync while he was at it. He told the reporter that he was intimately involved in the implementation of the sustainability projects, and that the project has been consistently behind, missing deadlines, and that they were running way over budget."

"But that's not true!" she cried indignantly.

Tristan rolled his eyes and gave her a condescending look. "When has the truth ever mattered to the press?"

Rory narrowed her eyes at him. "It matters a great deal to most of us. Don't go generalizing the entire population of journalists based on the characteristics of only the bottom-feeding rabble rousers who give the rest of us a bad name."

He held up his hands. "Fine, fine. Sorry. I'm a little biased at the moment."

He slipped his phone out of his pocket and unlocked the screen before handing it over. Her eyes skimmed the email, which had been addressed to both of them. She'd left her phone in her clutch back at the table and had barely glanced at it all evening, not wanting to be rude. She looked back up at him when she finished reading. "Damn it."

He nodded tersely. "My first reaction was a bit more colorful than that."

Rory took a deep breath, steadying herself, while she quickly ran through disaster scenarios in her mind. Nope, unfortunately she didn't have a mental plan prepared for this unlikely event. Still, she knew that they couldn't just sit back and wait for the shit to hit the fan.

"Got any tricks up your sleeve?" Tristan asked hopefully.

"I hope so. Can you call Jason?"

He raised his brow. "You really want to bring him into this right now?"

She nodded, hoping that this burgeoning plan wouldn't blow up in her face. "I don't think we have a choice. Sooner or later, he's going to be called to comment, anyway. Ask him if he'd be willing to schedule an interview tomorrow."

Tristan furrowed his brow. "Are you sure this is the right time for that?"

"Just call him," she urged.

She paced the hall while Tristan stepped away. She watched him speaking on the phone, his hand on his hip with his back turned to her. His voice was too low for her to hear much. She couldn't help but fidget impatiently while she waited, smoothing her dress again. She really hoped this would work. Although Jason was perfectly willing to talk about TerraSync to anyone who would listen, Rory had advised him to hold off on interviews, figuring they would save that tactic for just the right time in the campaign, or for an emergency. She was disappointed that it was the latter scenario. A couple of women caught her eye as they meandered past on the way to the restrooms, and she smiled tightly.

Finally Tristan ended his call and returned to her, his hand falling from the back of his neck. "It's done."

"What did he have to say about it?" she asked.

"Nothing worthy of being repeated in front of a lady."

She gave a huff of a laugh, in spite of the situation. Then she held out her hand. "Give me your phone."

He handed it over without question, but with a curious look.

"It's time to cross your fingers and hope that I can pull off Part 2 of this plan," she told him. "Wish me luck."

"You don't need it."

She appreciated his confidence in her, and set her shoulders while she prepared to dial. She listened to the line ring twice, holding her breath. When the answer finally came, she met Tristan's eyes one last time, hoping to bolster herself with some of his strength under pressure. She turned her back to him as she dedicated all her attention to the voice on the other line.

"Kevin," she greeted, her tone icy.

"Who is this?" the voice demanded.

"It's Rory Gilmore. We need to talk."

"Gilmore?" he confirmed. "From the TerraSync campaign? I figured I'd be getting a call from your camp."

"You figured right," she replied coolly. "That's what happens when you call our office and threaten to run a story that you clearly haven't fact-checked."

"Hey, I have a source who says-"

"I know exactly what your _source_ says," she interrupted. "But your source is clearly unreliable. A disgruntled ex-employee disparaging his former place of work? Come on."

"The public will still eat it up," the reporter replied.

"The public will see right through it," she asserted.

"Who's to say?" he mused. "Only one way to find out. Tune in to Twitter, Facebook, and the _Daily News's_ comments section tomorrow and see for yourself."

"You're not going to run this story."

He laughed. "You seem pretty confident about that."

"I am. Because I know you're going to like what I have to offer a lot more."

"Gilmore, are you propositioning me?" he asked in a suggestive tone.

Her lip curled up in disgust. "You wish. I'm offering you a better story."

"Hmm. Can't say I'm not disappointed. But tell me more about this offer."

She sighed, hating that she had to pander to this sleazeball. She really didn't want to do this, but it was the only card she could think to play in this scenario. "How about an exclusive with Jason Stone?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and she knew she had him. He finally piped in, with a tone of derisive disbelief. "Stone doesn't do interviews about TerraSync."

"That's right. He hasn't yet. But he'll be ready to give one to you, tomorrow. _If_ ,and only if," she paused, to make sure her next point hit home. "You can assure us that the harassment story and the quotes from Gary Lowell will disappear."

After another pause, Kevin cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. "Fine. You got it. I'll give up Gary Lowell for Stone. But I need a three-week embargo on any other interviews from Jason Stone."

"Ha!" she yelled harshly. "Yeah, right. Three- _day_ embargo is more like it."

"One week," he countered. "Take it or leave it. I can still run with Lowell."

Rory ground her teeth. Realistically, she knew that Jason could play this interview to his favor, and they wouldn't need to give another to any other press outlet within the week anyway. It may actually be best for them to let the coverage and ripples from the _Daily News_ play out before they moved on to other interviews. But the nerve of this guy!

"Fine," she hissed. "One week. No one else will get an interview with Jason until then. And you'll forget the Gary Lowell story ever happened."

"Deal," Kevin agreed quickly.

She sighed, knowing that he'd still gotten a fantastic deal from her. That grated on her. She didn't like catering to this asshole.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Gilmore," he continued. "Don't be a stranger."

With that, she hung up on him. She took another deep breath before turning back to face Tristan.

"Well?" he asked impatiently. "I'm dying here."

"In exchange for an exclusive with Jason tomorrow, Kevin and the _Daily News_ will bury the Gary Lowell thing."

He let out a breath and closed his eyes briefly in relief. When he opened them again, he considered her with a tilt of his head. "That was impressive."

"All in a day's work," she replied nonchalantly. Inwardly, she was a little impressed with herself, too, but mostly just relieved that they could stop worrying about this.

Tristan slowly stepped closer to her, a mischievous smile playing across his lips. "You know, I hate to admit it, but I'm almost glad you had to tell off that prick."

She tilted her head to look up at him curiously.

He leaned down to speak a low admission in her ear. "I really enjoyed watching that."

Her pulse began to beat a bit erratically, her fading adrenaline mixed with something else now. She tried to play it cool. "Hmm. Glad you think so, but personally I'm hoping not to have to talk to him again anytime soon."

Tristan's suggestive look was replaced with one of concern, and he placed a protective hand on the small of her back. "Did he say something?"

She shook her head. "Nothing I can't handle. I just hate dealing with so-called journalists like him."

"Sounds like you could use a drink."

She smiled. "Excellent powers of observation you've got there. Does that mean we're ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

His dark eyes shone down at her. "I wish. But they haven't thanked the sponsors yet tonight. I think our absence would be conspicuous when they get around to acknowledging Panoramic and we're not there to shine the spotlight on. That is the reason we're here, after all."

She couldn't help the small noise of dismay that escaped her throat, and Tristan chuckled with a healthy dose of male satisfaction.

"Patience is a virtue," he teased. "We'll get out of here soon enough."

"Fine. But if you let me get dragged into another lively conversation about gymnastics, you won't be easily forgiven."

"Your warning is appreciated, and duly noted," he assured her.

"How much longer do we have to stay, do you think?" she asked. She surprised herself with her frankness, but had to admit that she was more than ready to be done with the party. She was also starting to feel pretty ready to get on with the rest of their evening. Her hands, again without conscious thought or permission, had hand found their way to the lapels of Tristan's jacket. He was warm under her touch, and the way he looked down at her was doing nothing to increase her patience.

"You're the one who insisted that the evening wouldn't be so bad," he reminded her. "Come on, Cinderella, let's get you back to the ball."

She fell into step beside him as they made their way back toward the event room, resigning herself to another hour or more of polite chatter and schmoozing. She felt a little bad; Mr. and Mrs. Seever were actually pretty delightful people, and it wasn't entirely their fault that she couldn't keep her attention on their conversation. She was about to turn to Tristan and tell him she'd changed her mind, and would talk about gymnastics as much as her polite dinnermates wanted; suddenly, though, she felt Tristan wrap her hand in his and yank her sideways.

He was there to steady her when she stumbled against him, but he wasted no time in pulling her further into what appeared to be a coat room. They came to a stop at the far end of one of the long, empty racks and he backed her against the wall, pinning her with his heated gaze and caging her in with his arms braced on either side of her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Shh." He covered her mouth teasingly with his hand while he let his eyes roam over her. When he looked back up, his eyes were dark and full of promises. "This dress has been driving me crazy all night."

Before he removed his hand from her mouth, his thumb dragged across her lower lip, and she drew in a sharp breath. His ducked his head to draw a path with his lips down her neck and across her collarbone, and she couldn't even bring herself to be embarrassed that he could surely feel her pulse skyrocketing. "What happened to 'patience is a virtue'?"

"I've never claimed to be a virtuous man." She shivered at the sensation of his low voice next to her ear. Before she could form a retort, he occupied her mouth with a searing kiss.

They took their time at first, tasting each other. She felt his warm hand slide lower down her bare back, coming to rest just at the point where her skin gave way to the fabric of her dress. He pressed her closer to him while his other hand moved to the back of her head, tangling in her hair as his exploration of her mouth became more urgent.

She sensed his need for control, but wasn't willing to surrender to him just yet. She drew back momentarily for some much-needed air, then cupped his head in her hands and brought him back for a slow kiss. She teased him, sucking lightly at his bottom lip and sliding her tongue against it, but refusing to take it any deeper. She did it again, playing with him, enjoying the heady sensation of taking charge.

A groan emanated from deep in his throat, and he leaned his body into her, his hips pinning her against the wall. He took advantage of her gasp by snaking his tongue into her mouth to wrap around hers in a kiss that was clearly a power play, though he'd hear no complaints from her. His message was clear- he was done playing. He slid a hand down over the curve of her hip, then back up, the friction pulling some of the fabric of her dress along with him. She clung to him as her knees trembled.

"Why don't I feel anything under this dress?" he growled.

"Panty lines," she confessed.

He swore under his breath, right before his mouth crashed back to hers.

His tongue claimed hers in hot, possessive sweeps until she was breathless all over again. She barely repressed a moan, arching instinctively against him, trying to eliminate any spare millimeter of distance between their bodies.

Tristan froze, his muscles turning to stone while his chest rose and fell with his rapid breath. "We need to stop this," he groaned.

"We do?" Thoughts slowly started to emerge from the fog that had overtaken her, now that he was no longer actively working to distract her. Although his forehead was pressed to hers, and his warm breath was coming quickly against the skin of her neck, which was its own form of torture. He was probably right, though she was having a hard time connecting her thoughts to her actions, and her fingers were still pressed into his back, trying to draw him closer.

"Tell me no," he urged, his voice a low rumble. He was still frozen, but his knee was shoved between hers and his body pinned her to the wall. His hands tightened against her hips and she squirmed against him, eliciting him to take a sharp breath. "Push me away. Tell me we can't do this here."

"We can't?"

"You suck at this," he reported, but he let his lips resume their assault.

Rory's own hands continued their exploration, sliding around his sides to his hard stomach, feeling his muscles contract under her touch, and her fingers finally came to rest on top of his belt buckle. She was fairly certain that in less than 4 seconds she was going to make a move that would put them squarely in NC-17 territory, but the sound of footsteps and voices approaching cut through her haze and distracted her momentarily from her intentions.

Tristan tore his lips from hers while he hastily pulled away, flattening himself against the wall next to her while they both worked on quieting their ragged breathing.

Two women were chatting easily near the entrance to the coat room. Being that it was late June, there was obviously no need for coats, and so Tristan and Rory only had the darkness in the depths of the room to shield them from any prying eyes. Once she could hear again over the beating of her own heart, Rory waited until the voices retreated before she turned back to Tristan, but he pulled away out of her reach.

"I'm going to get us both in a lot of trouble if you touch me again right now."

"Is that a promise?"

"Rory, please." His voice was strained, full of warning.

She acquiesced, giving up her pursuit and leaning back against the wall. "You started it."

"The dress started it," he corrected.

"So… rain check?"

His eyes flashed, and his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile. "You can count on it."

She'd just finished relearning how to breathe like a normal human, and he was already ruining it with that look alone. She smiled at him anyway. "I will."

"You should probably get back out there." He nodded his head toward the door.

"I guess so. Are you going to join me?"

"You go first. I'm going to need a minute." He gave her a pointed look.

She bit her lip to stop her smirk. Yes, that situation had definitely not gone unnoticed. "You'll come find me later?"

"Don't worry, I'm not leaving without you," he assured.

She thrilled at the potential meaning in his words, but tried to play it casual. At least, as casually as she could, given their position mere moments ago. "I'll see you back out there, then."

She walked a couple steps away and paused to put herself back together, running her fingers around her mouth to clear away any remaining traces of lipstick. She was sure her lips were red enough as it was, and probably swollen, but there was no helping that. After straightening her hair, she ran her palms down her hips, smoothing her dress back into place.

"Jesus," she heard Tristan mutter behind her. "Are you kidding me with this? Get out of here already."

She looked over her shoulder to find him closely watching her every move with a smoldering gaze. "I'm going, I'm going!"

With a last, deep breath, she set her shoulders and headed back to the crowded ballroom. The buzz of the crowd reached her ears before she even made it to the door, and she pasted a polite smile on her face before stepping through. She spotted their empty seats back at their table, where their dinnermates were chatting amicably. Deciding that she would definitely need a drink before Tristan rejoined her, she made a beeline for the bar and ordered up a glass of Sauvignon. She hung around the bar for a few more minutes, sipping her wine and observing the crowd. As if she could sense him, her eyes were drawn back to the door when Tristan entered, and she watched him scan the room before his still-smoky gaze landed on her.

He didn't linger long before making his way back to their table and taking his seat. She watched him easily insert himself into the conversation that was taking place between the Seevers and the Caldwells. Tristan's hand wrapped around his water glass and she watched him take a sip while he cast her a sidelong glance from across the room.

Rory sighed and turned back around to face the bartender, gesturing to her drink. "Could I get another, please?"

She had a feeling they were both going to need a bit of liquid courage to make it through the rest of the evening.


	11. But Suffice It To Say

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** Next chapter in a week!

 **Chapter 11 - But Suffice It To Say (We're Leaving Things Unsaid)**

Rory sighed again, staring at the ceiling, contemplating her next move. Though she tried to focus on formulating a plan, she found her attention slipping. Her eyes traced their way from the ceiling, past the restored crown molding, down and across the dark hardwood floors to the bedroom door. The door that was closed. To avoid disturbing her? Or to keep her contained?

Though the blinds were closed over the large window, the curtains were drawn back, allowing plenty of sunlight to filter in. Every detail of the room was illuminated; the salvaged barnwood feature wall, the modern-looking chest of drawers, and the rumpled bedclothes at the foot of the bed. The dappled sunlight reached all the way to the corner of the room, spilling slightly past the cracked door to the tiled floor of the master bath. What the light of day did not reveal, however, was the primary inhabitant of this impressive domain.

 _Tristan's body pressed her into the door while he worked with one hand to slip his key into the lock next to her hip, refusing to give up kissing her to dedicate the attention that the task seemingly required. She couldn't help but move against him, craving friction, and he made a sound of impatience in the back of his throat. When the lock finally turned, he opened the door and they spilled into the living space of the renovated brownstone._

" _You live here?" she'd asked, breathless. She craned her neck to peer down the hallway that led past the open plan kitchen, and spotted stairs heading to the second level. "Is this a two-bedroom?"_

" _We'll only need one," he growled. "You can have a tour later."_

And now here she was, laying in his bed, alone. She strained to hear anything from the other room, any hint that would tell her what he was doing, or if he was even there.

She started to pull her bottom lip between her teeth, but released it when she realized her lips were already feeling tender enough.

 _His tongue wound hotly around hers, his kiss demanding. She hastily pushed his jacket off his shoulders, and he pulled away briefly to shrug it off and let it fall to the floor. She pulled him back by his tie, dragging on the knot to loosen it while melding their mouths together again. Her hands slipped down to begin the tedious work of the buttons on his shirt, which she fumbled in her haste. Abandoning the task, she instead tore the bottom of the shirt out of his pants and slid her fingers underneath, feeling his hot skin and taut muscles. He bit her bottom lip, then sucked on the spot and licked his tongue over it in a way that made her knees go weak. He pulled her body tight against his, leaving her with no doubt that he was just as turned on._

She blinked a few times, as if that would help chase the images away from her mind's eye.

Rory pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed, pulling the large t-shirt she wore lower down her thighs as she tip-toed her way to the bathroom. There was a window in there, too, and the sunshine falling across the pristine white and gray tiles made the room seem open and airy. On her way back out, Rory paused in front of the large mirror, swiping her fingers under her eyes to remove any smudged traces of makeup. She padded back across the room to the bed, straightening the covers before she sat back down on top of them, leaning her back against the headboard. She crossed her arms over her chest, then shifted, letting her hands fall into her lap instead.

She was no good at this. She didn't know the protocol for waking up in a strange bed alone.

Not a strange bed, her subconscious argued. Tristan's bed.

 _He walked her backwards, his hands everywhere, overwhelming her senses. He was warm and hard wherever she touched, and his muscles contracted involuntarily as she slid her hands down his bare abdomen to his waistband, clawing impatiently at his belt. Just as she'd managed to pop open the button of his pants, he grabbed her wrists and pulled away. She watched him gazing down at her, his eyes like midnight in the low ambient light filtering in through the window. The corners of his lips turned up in a smirk. "God, you in that dress… take it off."_

" _You take it off, if it offends you so much." The impact of her challenge was diminished by its breathy quality._

 _He shook his head slowly, looking every bit the man who was used to getting his way. He knew she wasn't going to argue. Damn him._

" _You know there's not much underneath," she reminded him._

" _I'm counting on it."_

 _Holding his gaze, she slid down first one shoulder of the dress, then the other. It clung to her, so she shimmied a bit as she dragged it down and let it pool around her feet._

 _She was about to complain that he was still over-dressed, but he didn't give her the chance. He stepped closer and gently pushed her back so that she fell onto the bed, and he followed, crawling his way up her body and lowering his mouth to her chest._

She sighed again and self-consciously raked her fingers through her hair. Any minute now, she was going to muster up the motivation and the confidence to leave the shelter of the bedroom and go find him. Any minute.

No sooner had she promised herself that, than the door to the bedroom creaked open tentatively. When he noticed that she was awake, he pushed it the rest of the way open and stepped into the room. She met his eyes and her breath caught in her throat. How was she supposed to function when he was a mere 6 feet away, and while the hot memories of the things they'd done less than 6 hours ago still danced in her head.

She watched him eye her cautiously, seemingly waiting for a sign that she wasn't going to bolt. Seeing him watch her made her mind flash back again to the night before; a vision of his piercing eyes gazing up at her intently as she lowered herself over him.

Deciding that she needed distraction, stat, she zeroed in on the coffee cup in his hand. "You'd better hurry up with that."

"Good morning to you, too, Mary." He smirked, but gave no indication of moving from his spot near the door.

"I don't think you can call me that anymore," she retorted. He still made no move to come closer. She gestured at him. "Are you hanging out over there so you can make a quick getaway?"

"I'm more concerned about you trying that," he admitted.

She tried to feign innocence. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I know you."

She fidgeted uncomfortably, feeling too exposed to him with her bare legs stretched out in front of her. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You don't know me _that_ well."

"Unfortunately, you're right," he said, cocking his head at her. "I don't understand you as well as I wish I did. It's irritating."

"Oh, look at that, another thing I do that annoys you," she retorted, trying to bring some levity back into the conversation.

He wasn't having it, though. He continued to study her with a serious gaze. "I'm supposed to be good at reading people, but that's never worked with you."

She threw him a skeptical look. "Yeah, right. I think you might have me confused with you. Trying to read you is like trying to read hieroglyphics."

"I'm an open book to you." He gestured at himself to illustrate his point, and she couldn't help but notice the way his t-shirt hugged his body. "I'm a guy, Rory. If you want to know what I'm thinking, all you have to do is ask."

Uh-huh, sure. Like it was that simple. She threw his statement back at him. "Then why don't you just ask me?"

"Are you starting to think about running away yet?" he asked bluntly.

She looked up at him, standing there with his shoulders squared, as if preparing himself for her reaction. "If I say yes, does that mean I don't get the coffee?"

At the dark look on his face, she immediately held up her hands. "Kidding!"

He shook his head at her in mock disappointment, wearing a faint smile, though his tone was still guarded. "I'm really looking for a clue here."

"And I could _really_ use some coffee."

He finally abandoned his post at the door and meandered over, giving her ample opportunity to admire this new casual side that she'd never gotten to see before. His jeans hung just right from his lean hips, and a faded t-shirt covered the rest of the goods. And yes, she now knew without a doubt that there were _goods_. The shirt looked soft, and she wanted to run her hands over it, drag it off him, and see what it looked like laying on the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. She took his proffered coffee and took a long drag.

After letting the first sip warm her, she looked back up to find him studying her intently. "This is good," she complimented. "Did you make this? Is there more?"

"If I say no, does that mean I don't get to share?" he teased. He leisurely traced the skin of her thigh with the back of his knuckle, dragging it all the way up until he met the edge of the t-shirt.

She took another sip in effort to distract herself from his fingers that were now playing with the hem of the shirt. Then she glanced down worriedly at the half-empty mug. "Seriously though, is there no more?"

"Seriously though, am I going to get an answer to my question?" He withdrew his fingers and sat back.

"Are you going to stop throwing all my words back at me?"

"Rory," he warned.

"I don't think running away is at the top of my priority list right now," she answered honestly. "Especially since I'm going to have to do my walk of shame in my formal dress and heels."

"And no underwear," he reminded her.

"Right. Thank you. You're so helpful."

"I try." He grinned, and then he moved closer to her, now running both of his palms up the outside of her thighs. "So what is at the top if your priority list?"

She tried to draw a steady breath and think clearly, but his fingertips had slid past the edge of her shirt now, and had come to rest mere inches away from her _not underwear_. She tried to fake some bravado. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Would you like some suggestions?"

He leaned in slowly, keeping his eyes on hers until he was seemingly able to assure himself with whatever he saw there that she wasn't going to spook. As he drew closer, his gaze fell to her lips, but his mouth descended lower to trace down her neck. He hooked a finger into the neckline of her shirt, tugging it down so that he could trail featherlight kisses across her collarbone. She tried to come up with a sarcastic remark, but he was doing a heck of a job at rendering her brain incapacitated, and once his hot tongue touched her skin, all she managed was a soft moan. He pulled away just long enough to pluck the coffee cup from her hands and set it beside them on a nightstand. On his return trip, Rory leaned up and met his mouth with her own.

Suddenly his hands were around her hips and he pulled her forward smoothly, away from the headboard, allowing her to lay back and him to follow. He propped himself on his forearms while he parted her lips with his tongue and explored her mouth with a languid pace. When she pulled away for air, he moved to straddle her, sitting with one knee on either side of her hips, rocked back on his heels. He looked down at her with molten eyes and a lazy smile, and she couldn't take it anymore, so she reached up to grab a handful of his shirt and pull him back to her.

Her other hand moved to the back of his head, her nails scratching lightly up his scalp, which she'd discovered made him shiver. His kiss had none of the urgency of last night; they took their time exploring. Nonetheless, she was quickly growing warm under his touch as his mouth moved against hers, and a very pleasant heat was starting to build low in her stomach.

Then he pulled back with a heavy sigh, sitting back on his heels again and looking down at her. "Quit distracting me. We were going to have a conversation."

"I didn't!" she cried indignantly. "And, we were?"

"You did," he accused. "You're laying in my bed, wearing my shirt and nothing else. If that's not a Grade A distraction, I don't know what is."

"Why, I never." She couldn't quite muster any passion behind her refutation, and the smile on her face also served a pretty dampening effect.

"Are you ready to talk?"

"I don't remember agreeing to such terms in the first place," she countered.

"Your agreement was implied when you accepted the coffee."

"My coffee came with strings? In that case, I'd better make sure to get the most out of it." She squirmed under him, and he rolled away with a groan.

"Get dressed," he urged her. "Then we'll get a little more coffee in you, and then we can talk."

"We can go straight to the coffee," she insisted, scrambling up eagerly.

"No, we can't." Tristan's eyes raked over her body, down her bare legs and then back up, acting like he had all day before his gaze met her face again. "I need you to be clothed for this. You don't happen to have a snow suit in your purse, do you?"

She rolled her eyes, but nonetheless followed his direction, walking across the room to where her dress lay crumpled in a heap on the floor. She bent at the knees to pick it up, avoiding giving Tristan an eyeful, and retreated to the bathroom to change. When she emerged, he was waiting for her.

"Almost done." He held out a white button-down shirt and wrapped it around her. "We just need a little more coverage."

She smirked, having already witnessed firsthand the effect that her dress had on him. It had been an unintended yet very welcome consequence. She complied, letting him help her roll the long sleeves up above her wrists. When he was done, he stepped back to admire his handiwork and gave a satisfied nod of his head. Then he brought his hands to her hips, turned her around, and marched her out of the bedroom.

His home was even more impressive in the daylight, and on their way to the kitchen, she glanced around curiously. She couldn't help but wonder how he could afford it. Panoramic did well by her, and she was able to sock away some savings after paying her monthly rent a few blocks over, but Tristan's bordering Park Slope neighborhood was undoubtedly pricier than Prospect Heights. While her apartment certainly wasn't a hole, it definitely paled in comparison to his historic brownstone. The place had been renovated from floor to ceiling, with care taken to preserve some of the original features while infusing a modern touch. He led her to the gourmet kitchen that was double the size of her own. What anyone could possibly need two ovens for, she hadn't a clue, but the room sure was pretty.

"Oh, thank God," she murmured when she watched him walk over to a coffee pot. She held her mug out to him, and he filled her up. "Mmm." She breathed in the smell of the dark roast happily, then smiled over at Tristan. "So you did make this?"

"Have I impressed you again?" he smirked.

"Again?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Last night, you said-"

Ah, right. She had said that. She held up her hand, not needing to hear it repeated in the light of day. "Yeah, yeah. We both get it, you're very impressive."

"What was it _exactly_ that you said again?" He pretended to consider.

"It's really not fair to hold me responsible for anything I may or may not have said. I was under duress."

"Duress, huh?" he questioned, his earlier smirk fading.

"Not like that," she quickly amended.

"Then like what, exactly?"

She shot him a look. "You know what you did."

His lips curved, and she felt heat rise to her cheeks as she wondered which particular scenes were playing in his mind. There were plenty to choose from.

He looked back over at her and gestured his chin at her half-full mug. "So have you had enough coffee for this discussion yet?"

"I guess that depends." She set the mug down with a soft clink on the quartz counter. "What discussion are we going to have?"

"The one where you finally give me a real answer about whatever it is that I know you're going to freak out about and use an excuse to run away, so we can cut you off at the pass."

"Oh, that," she mumbled. Was there enough coffee in the world for this discussion? Somehow, she didn't think that was the best quip for the moment. It was ironic that sitting there fully dressed in his kitchen, she felt far more self-conscious than she'd been five minutes ago, nearly naked in his bed. "What makes you think that I might run away?"

"It's happened before," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "Are you talking about the high school piano kiss?"

"There's more recent precedent, too," he reminded her. "This week, in my office..."

"We were in the _office_!" she emphasized again. "That's different."

"We're not in the office now, but I recognize these patterns. You have the same look you did a few days ago. And you're not looking at me."

She quickly brought her eyes to his face, defiantly. "What kind of 'look' do I supposedly have?"

"The one that tells me you're probably overthinking things. I just can't tell what it is that you're trying so hard to work out," he admitted. "That's the part that drives me crazy."

She took another sip of coffee, though she suspected that he would see it for the stalling tactic that it was. Her shoulders were tensed, she realized, and she tried to relax. What was so wrong about wanting to think ahead and have a plan for when they inevitably had to go back to work tomorrow and be normal around each other? She couldn't even think about last night without feeling flushed, and she couldn't be thinking those kinds of things when she was sitting across from Tristan in a meeting. On the other hand, she'd probably ruined any chance of being able to view him the same way ever again, now that she knew exactly what he had going on under those tailored suits he strutted around in.

He took her silence in stride and started in again, prompting her. "You said before that you were having trouble separating me from some sadly misguided youth you once knew."

She gave him an alarmed look. "After last night, I certainly hope that neither of us still views the other as a high school student."

"Good thinking," he acknowledged.

She watched him curiously as he shifted. If she didn't know better, she'd almost think that he looked nervous. But of course, Tristan didn't do nervous.

"Well?" she prompted, after another moment of silence. "You're the one who wanted to talk."

He brought his eyes back to her, giving her a pointed look. "What I'm trying to say is, I hope that we can both be adults about this."

She quickly looked down at her coffee as an excuse to break his gaze, not wanting him to see her thrown. Suddenly it clicked. He'd told her she was overthinking things, and now he wanted her to 'be an adult about this'. He was hoping that she could be mature, and not read too much into this. Not make it more than it was.

She cleared her throat, just wanting to make a statement for the record. "I'm not usually a casual sex kind of girl."

He frowned at her and let that hang in the air for a few awkward moments before he spoke again. "I never thought you were that kind of girl. Obviously, you have a differing opinion about me."

She dared herself to look back up at him. "I thought you meant-"

He raised his brow at her. "You thought I was saying that's what this was? Seriously?"

"You insisted on having a conversation about what happened, and you told me I was overthinking it." She ticked off the evidence on her fingers. "And then you told me to be an adult about it."

"I meant that as in, let's have an adult discussion about _us_ ," he insisted, eyes narrowed. "After everything, how can you still think all I've been after is a conquest? You really think I look at you as a notch on the bedpost?"

She took in his stance, arms crossed over his chest, and his guarded eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. I was sitting here, trying to figure out how to have a conversation about what comes next, and I thought you were trying to shut that down."

"So tell me." He made a 'bring it on' gesture with his hand.

She hesitated. "About what comes next?"

"We've seemingly established that you're not going to run away this time." He shot her another skeptical look. "Right?"

She nodded emphatically.

"Then what else should I be worried about?" he asked wearily.

"What do you mean?"

"You're clearly tied up in knots over something that's going on in that head of yours."

"I told you, I'm just trying to picture where we go from here, and it's not exactly a clear path."

He frowned again. "Why? How so?"

"I…" she stammered, wondering how to have this conversation.

"Come on," he urged her. "I can take it."

It hadn't exactly gone well when she'd tried to bring this up a few days ago, and the level of confusion had only increased after last night. "I don't know if you'll understand."

He made a show of consulting his watch. "Wow, not even 10am and you've already called me a man whore and now insulted my intelligence."

"That's not what I meant, either, and you know it. It's just complicated."

"Great." He rolled his eyes. "Here we go with the 'complications' again. Next you're going to start talking more about 'rules' and 'boundaries' too, I bet."

"As a matter of fact, I do still think having some boundaries would be a good idea."

He laughed harshly, turning his back to her and running his hand along the back of his neck. "Of course you do."

She watched him, bewildered. "I don't see why that's a problem."

"What if I don't want boundaries?" he demanded, spinning back to pin her with his hard stare.

She shifted under his intense gaze. This was starting to spiral out of control, and she didn't know how to stop it. "What's so wrong with wanting to know where things stand? I mean, this is weird, between us, right?"

"Confusing, complicated, weird - we're on a roll. This is really not a very flattering picture you're painting here."

"We work together!" she cried again, wondering how he could possibly not be getting this. "Of course it's weird! And that's exactly why I wanted to talk about what we're going to do about this, now that we've… you know."

"Now that we've slept together?" he finished. "In my mind, nothing has changed since the last two times we've had this conversation, but I can see now that we obviously were not on the same page before, either."

She hesitated, suddenly not at all sure that they were talking about the same thing. "What's that supposed to mean? We haven't _had_ this conversation yet, because you keep refusing to talk about what we're supposed to do from here."

"I thought we'd been through this. I was clearly mistaken." He took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself. "So tell me - where do you think we go from here? What is this, to you?" he demanded, gesturing between the two of them.

"I think we need to talk about how we're going to keep this from affecting our work." She forced herself to stand her ground against the storm raging in his eyes. "And, yes, I think part of the answer is to set up some kind of guardrails to keep our work and our personal lives separate."

"Is that really what you want? To compartmentalize your life like that?"

"My work is important to me," she began. She saw his reaction forming. "Don't give me that, I know it's important to you, too. I don't want whatever this is between us to distract us from the campaign. That wouldn't be fair to TerraSync."

He shook his head, and she watched as the frustration in his features faded into something else. She watched his jaw clench and unclench a few times before he finally spoke again. "Maybe we should just put this on pause for now."

In the blanket of silence that settled over them then, Rory noticed that her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and she could feel her pulse. This conversation had turned into a confusing whirlwind, and her adrenaline had kicked in.

"Put what on pause?" she asked hesitantly, not at all sure that she wanted to hear the answer.

Tristan sighed. "We're not going to make any more progress in this conversation right now."

That wasn't an answer to her question. She stood frozen, frantically searching his eyes for any clue that might point toward a recovery plan. "Look, I think we got off track here."

"I pushed this," he acknowledged. "I don't want to push _you_. If this isn't what you want-"

"I never said that!" she insisted. "I don't know how we got from there to here, but I never said that this isn't what I want."

All he gave her in response was a nod that seemed placating. She watched his gaze move toward the door, and suddenly she felt very unwelcome. She had no clue what conclusion he'd come to in the past sixty seconds, but his face was telling her that this wasn't the right time to question it.

She ventured forward slowly, testing the waters. She reached out to rest her hand lightly on his arm. "We can talk about this later, though, right?"

He shrugged, and her hand fell away from him. "Sure."

That sounded terrifyingly noncommittal, but Rory was at a loss as to how to salvage this. She tried honesty. "I don't know what's just happened here."

He finally met her eyes again and smiled, but it was tight. "Just further proof that what's past is prologue."

"I still don't understand," she admitted.

He gave a humorless laugh. "It's fine, Rory."

He began to move toward the door then, and she took the hint that she was meant to follow him. She paused to step into her shoes and grab her clutch off the kitchen counter, then met him near the door and turned to face him. Feeling desperate to regain her footing and understand where they stood, and also hoping that she could try to impress upon him how she felt, she made a bold move and leaned up to kiss him. He returned the gesture, pulling at her bottom lip, but then withdrew before taking it any deeper.

She fingered his button-down shirt that she wore over her dress. "Do you want…"

He put his hand over hers, stilling her fingers on the buttons. "Don't worry about it. You can give it back later."

"Thanks." That, at least, had her feeling a little better. "So… we'll talk?"

He nodded. "We'll talk."

He reached out to touch her, running his hand lightly down her arm, all the way to her hand, and gave it a small squeeze before he released her. With that, he stepped back, allowing her to see herself out. The click of the door closing behind her resounded in the silence.

She held her chin high as she began the six-block walk back to her apartment. After about two blocks, she dug her cell phone out of her handbag. She had a ton of work emails, of course, and a missed text from her mom that she decided to leave for later. She clutched her cell phone tightly for the rest of the walk.

When she got home, she immediately kicked off her heels in the middle of the living room and headed straight for the shower, turning the water on to heat up while she removed the remnants of last night's makeup. She then let the almost-too-hot water cascade over her skin and pound her tense shoulders into submission.

She heard the chirp of her phone from the bathroom counter - not that she was listening for it - and stumbled her way out of the shower to lunge for it, dripping water all over the floor and bathmat.

She ignored her disappointment when she saw that it was just Lucy. Deciding that her friend could wait a few more minutes, she ducked back into the shower to finish rinsing the conditioner from her hair. By the time she was finished, the room was filled with steam. She wrapped her hair in a towel to dry while she quickly got dressed, then escaped the sauna with her cell phone.

She dialed Lucy and listened to two rings before she answered exuberantly. "Rory!"

"Hey," she responded, faking as much enthusiasm as she could, though she still wasn't able to hold a candle to her friend. "Are you free for brunch?"

"Always," Lucy replied, as if the answer should be obvious. "Meet at Eloise's at 11?"

* * *

THE CAFE WAS teeming with the Sunday Brunch crowd, but Rory had managed to snag a table with only a short wait. This wasn't the first time she and Lucy had met here, and Rory had taken the liberty of ordering the first of their bottomless Mimosas, which already sat in front of them by the time Lucy slid into the seat across from her. She took in Rory's only semi-dry hair with a raised eyebrow.

"I had a late night," Rory offered in response to the unspoken question on Lucy's face. "And a delayed start this morning."

At that, her face turned decidedly more intrigued. "Oooh, do tell."

"I woke up alone in Tristan's bed."

"What?" Lucy demanded, her eyes wide. "You're sleeping with Mr. Power Play? Since when?"

"Since last night," she replied dryly.

"Gotta say, I'm kind of glad it hasn't been much longer than that, seeing as I hadn't heard anything about it." Lucy was still looking at her in shock. "When did you start seeing Tristan?"

"I don't think we're _seeing_ each other," Rory corrected. Then she paused, feeling like she'd used that a lot lately while trying to explain her and Tristan. Did she think it made it better or worse if they weren't seeing each other? She shoved that question into a dark corner of her mind for later contemplation.

Lucy plowed on, oblivious to Rory's internal hesitation. "Well it seems like you were _seeing_ a lot of each other last night. I can't believe I didn't know anything about this!"

"I guess we haven't really talked in awhile."

"I can see now why you called for an emergency brunch," Lucy joked. "Clearly, we have a lot of ground to cover to make up for lost time."

"This was also just about seeing you, though," Rory argued. "Let's do you first. I want to hear all about the show, and how rehearsals are going, and also about what's going on with Nate."

Lucy began bouncing in her seat at the mention of his name, clearly having dialed in to the last part of Rory's inquiry. "Oh my God, I love him!"

"Really?" Rory asked, trying to hide her surprise. "Does he know?"

"Yes, really!" Lucy laughed. "And of course he does!"

"No, I didn't mean it that way, I just meant - wow! That's great. So, let's hear it. Spill."

"Well you've met him." Lucy gave a wave of her hand that indicated it was obvious. "He's tall, dark, and handsome in that I-don't-care-what-I-look-like way, and he's funny and sweet in an Aziz Ansari kind of way, you know?"

"That's a good kind of way," Rory nodded knowingly.

"The best," Lucy agreed vehemently. "When he talks, I do this warm-butter-on-hot-toast thing, and it's just… gah!" She paused to take a healthy gulp of her drink, then her eyes got wide. "And the sweet talking isn't even the best thing he does with his mouth."

Rory threw up a hand preemptively, knowing how quickly the details could veer in an overly-divulgent direction. "Message received."

"It was pretty much love at first sight," Lucy concluded. She leaned back in the booth and sipped her Mimosa with a satisfied grin.

"Are you sure that's not called 'lust'?" Rory teased.

"Trust me, I'm sure. I know I've only known him for for a few weeks, but when you know, you know. You know?"

"I'll take your word for it." Rory diverted her gaze to the tabletop. The conversation was becoming a bit too poignant for her current state of mind.

"Just because I don't know his credit score or his biggest fear or what he wanted to be when he grew up, doesn't mean it's not real." Lucy looked away as she took another sip.

Rory's heart sank at the noticeable chastisement in her friend's tone. She took in the shade of hurt in Lucy's eyes and she cursed herself. She reached a hand across the table in attempt to bridge the chasm she'd just created. "Of course it's real! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to sound glib. Really, Luc, I'm an idiot. I'm so happy for you."

"That's okay." Lucy looked back up and gave her a real smile, albeit with less wattage than she'd displayed moments ago.

She was just striking out left and right today. Rory hated that she hadn't been able to keep her own hangups from bleeding into the conversation. "Seriously, I'm sorry."

"Forget about it."

Rory swallowed her hesitancy, needing to not spend the day alienating everyone in her life. She spoke the truth. "You know, I've always admired you for not being afraid to dive into things with your whole heart."

At that, Lucy frowned in concern. "Is that how you feel? Afraid to put yourself out there?"

Rory thought about it, then shrugged. "Yes and no? I mean, it _is_ a little scary to let someone have that much control over your own happiness. Especially someone you don't actually know that well yet."

Lucy cocked her head. "That's how you think of it? 'Giving up control'?"

"It's true, isn't it?" Rory gave her a pointed look. "When you're in a relationship, you cede a little bit of control of your life over to that person."

"Maybe a tiny bit," Lucy agreed, retaining a skeptical tone.

"But?" Rory led expectantly.

Before her friend could reply, they were interrupted by the waiter who'd stopped by to take their orders. By the time they finished, Lucy's eyes had softened.

"Okay, so I've thought about it," she began.

"Did a lot of deep thinking while ordering your Nutella crepes, huh?" Rory teased.

Lucy ignored her. "I can see your point. I think I understand how it bothers _you_ to feel dependent on another person."

"Am I about to be psychoanalyzed?" Rory asked dryly. "Because, I've got to say, I think I've had enough of that today."

"You are Lorelai Gilmore," Lucy stated with a dramatic flair. Before Rory could ask where she was going with this, she continued. "You are Miss Independent, Miss Self-Sufficient. And you know I love and admire that about you," she added quickly, seeing Rory's look. "I'm just saying, I can see how that particular trait could lead you to enter more cautiously into relationships."

Rory bit back the reply at the tip of her tongue - that she and Tristan weren't in a relationship.

"I saw that," Lucy winked.

Per usual, Rory reverted to sarcasm. "Any more advice for me then, Kelly Clarkson?"

Lucy let the quip roll off of her and leveled Rory with a pointed look. "Just that I think you owe it to yourself, and to Tristan, to figure out what you really want."

Rory sighed, knowing that her friend was right. "Can't it just be fun sex?"

"The last time you tried that, you got proposed to."

She grimaced. "True."

"Besides, is that really what you want?" Lucy pressed.

"Yes." But then she sighed, because even saying it out loud felt wrong and she couldn't leave that out there. "No. Maybe, I don't know. This is _Tristan_ we're talking about."

Lucy looked at her expectantly, and when she didn't immediately fill in the blank, her friend prompted her. "So? What does that mean? You just slept with the man, so obviously you have at least some sort of feelings for him."

Rory pressed her lips together, thinking about their conversation earlier that morning. Taking the time to reflect back on it, she was able to categorize her feelings more effectively, and see through a fresh lens. First, there had been the disappointment she'd felt when she'd first thought that he was telling her that it had been a one-time thing. Then, she recalled the look in his eyes when she'd told him she wasn't that type of girl.

 _Obviously, you have a differing opinion about me._

He'd been offended. Hurt, even. But she couldn't balance that with the fact that he'd then balked at an open discussion about how they would move forward together. She remembered seeing something like resignation take over his expression, not knowing how they'd gotten there. She hadn't been kidding when she'd told him that she couldn't read him.

"I don't understand him," she said out loud. All of the sudden, her confused thoughts came spewing out of her mouth. "And I guess it's no wonder, right? I mean, we hardly know each other."

"You know each other biblically," Lucy pointed out.

"That doesn't count. I don't even know his middle name." Then she paused, trying to think back to her high school yearbooks. Had it been printed anywhere? "Do I?"

Lucy waved her hand in dismissal. "That's not important."

Of course she would say that, Rory thought. Then she immediately hated herself for silently judging. Who was she to judge? She ran her hand through her hair in frustration. "We don't really know anything about each other, not the normal stuff. Like what's his favorite food? What kind of music does he listen to? What does he read? I have no idea! We haven't even been on a real date. And yet I just fell into bed with him! Who does that?"

"Honey, I think we've all been there. Don't worry about it. You know the important stuff. Like the fact that he's a good guy. He values his work. And, let's face it, he's hot."

"We can't have a conversation without it turning into a verbal tennis match," Rory complained, ignoring that last bit that she knew she could no longer argue with. "We volley back and forth, questioning everything the other is saying."

"And what exactly has _he_ been saying?"

"I'm not even sure I know," she admitted.

At Lucy's encouragement, Rory did her best to provide a post-game analysis of the past couple of weeks between her and Tristan. She realized that she and Lucy hadn't even discussed that first night, after her first kiss with Tristan when they'd gone a round in her apartment trying to sort out their original miscommunication.

 _I was serious about it_ , he'd said. _About you._

 _Are we on the same page now?_ he'd asked.

Then, earlier this week, _This back-and-forth thing is getting old, Rory_.

She wrapped up the recap with the argument they'd had this morning in his kitchen. _What if I don't want boundaries?_ he'd demanded.

Lucy took this all in stride, and when Rory finally finished, she rested her head in her hands. Their food had arrived minutes ago, but their plates sat untouched in front of them. Even when she'd stopped talking, Lucy continued to stare at her.

"So what do I do?" Rory asked, sounding a little pitiful.

Lucy shook her head slowly. "I can't decide that for you. But that story certainly helps put a few things in perspective. I think it's clear where Tristan is coming from."

"It is?" Rory asked, surprised.

Lucy rolled her eyes. "Please. Obviously. He _likes_ you, Rory. And you've been doing everything you can to keep him at arm's length. How would you feel?"

"We haven't even been… doing whatever we're doing… for long enough for him to decide if he likes me," she dismissed.

"Don't be obtuse," Lucy chided. "He likes you. He told you so. He's been telling you for weeks."

"Did you listen to the story?" Rory asked. "Where did you get that from?"

"Did _you_ listen to it?" Lucy demanded. "He told you on that first night. He told you that he liked you back in school."

"That was back then."

"That was just the safer way for him to say it," Lucy told her. "Trust me, the sentiment still stands. He told you he didn't want to go for your proposal of these supposed 'rules' or 'boundaries' that are designed to keep the two of you apart."

"That's not what they're for," Rory insisted wearily. She'd spent up all her frustration already.

"It sure seems like that's what they're for," Lucy informed her.

Rory thought about that. Was that true? Is that what Tristan was reading into what she was trying to tell him? That she wanted to keep her distance? "That would certainly explain how we left things this morning."

Lucy gave her a look - duh - before she dug into her crepes.

Rory shifted her attention to the plate in front of her, realizing that the feeling in the pit of her stomach was actually not hunger at all. Nonetheless, she picked up her fork and poked at her food while mulling over Lucy's comments.

If her friend was right, which she had an annoying habit of being, then that meant that Rory had a major mea culpa in her near future.


	12. Speak Slowly, My Heart Is Learning

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** Most of the reviews I've received for the past couple chapters essentially come down to the sentiment of 'Damn Rory, get your head out of your ass'. Haha. Love it, and can't tell you how much I agree. Getting pretty tired of writing her twisty-pretzel naively-angsty mind, but there's light at the end of this tunnel. ;-)

I'm taking a vacation, so next chapter will be a bit more than a week out. In other news, I'm jonesing to start a new (Trory!) story, but will finish this one first, so I've been thinking about how many chapters we have left - probably about 9 more. Stay tuned! (Sorry for long note - read on!)

 **Chapter 12 - Speak Slowly My Heart Is Learning**

After Jason's interview with the _Daily News_ , Rory's already-busy calendar for the week was quickly flooded with new calls and appointments. As she'd known he would, Jason had blown it out of the water, and the interview was getting TerraSync all kinds of attention. The blogosphere was buzzing, social media was a-Twitter, and Rory was fielding inquiries left and right.

She would have been in her element, on any other day.

On this day, she was feeling testy and impatient. She tried to subtly check her phone again for the time as she shifted in her chair in the meeting, listening to Sophia ramble off an updated list of corporations who had expressed interest in discussing potential contributions. There had been such an uptick in inquiries that their teams had had to gather to dole out assignments for follow-up.

"So Austin and Casey, I'll send you your call lists," Sophia was saying. "And Macy, you're handling a couple of webinars this week? We'll try to see how many folks we can funnel to you, to cut back on the individual phone calls."

Rory was trying to pay attention. Really, she was. But when her wandering eyes slid across the table yet again to Tristan, and saw him still leaning back in his chair with his gaze studiously focused _anywhere_ else but in her direction, she couldn't help but lose interest in the meeting.

It was almost past noon, and despite her best efforts, she hadn't had a chance to talk to him all day. In fact, she hadn't spoken to him at all since she'd left his house yesterday. Unless you counted the many work emails that had been flying back and forth between the two of them, along with the rest of the team - but she certainly didn't. She desperately needed to talk with him, to talk things through, to figure out where they stood. Because looking at him now, with his careful avoidance, and listening to the indifferent way he said her name when referring to her team, the lead weight that had been sitting in the pit of her stomach ever since he essentially kicked her out of his place only grew heavier.

She still wasn't sure how she was going to untangle this latest miscommunication between them. If she were honest with herself, she still wasn't even sure that that's what it was - just a miscommunication. But she hoped so. Here she sat, a supposed communications expert, and yet somehow she'd allowed this situation between her and Tristan to spiral so completely out of her control, all because they clearly weren't understanding each other.

"Rory?"

She blinked, realizing that Sophia was looking at her expectantly. Tristan was consulting his laptop, and she had been so engrossed in her failed analysis of him that she'd apparently missed a question.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"The syndication requests," Sophia prompted. "You said you're handling all of that?"

Rory nodded. "Yes, I have a meeting tomorrow with Kevin Garrett. We gave him a one-week embargo on any other interviews, but we didn't specifically discuss syndication. We'll plan to discuss it then. I don't expect him to have any issues with it, since it will only increase views and engagement with the online article. If he resists, I'll go to his editor."

"Perfect." Sophia gave her an efficient nod. "If you let me know when, either Carl or I would be happy to go with you. If you do run into any resistance, we can back you up by showcasing all the corporate entities who are expressing interest. I'm having Market Research mock up some maps for us that show how far the influence could spread if the interview reaches syndication in some of the major cities."

"That would be great, thanks," Rory agreed. "I'm scheduled to meet Kevin at his office at 3 o'clock tomorrow."

Sophia looked to Carl, and they had a momentary silent exchange that ended with Carl nodding and waving his hand in a consider-it-done gesture. Apparently they'd worked together long enough that words were not necessary. Rory had achieved the same dynamic with Macy.

"Alright, folks!" Sophia chirped. "That's a wrap! Back to work! Who let you lot out of your offices, anyway? I thought we'd had those locks fixed."

The small group dispersed, and Rory's attention darted back to Tristan, who was quickly making his exit. She scooped up her laptop and the rest of her belongings and nearly tripped over her chair while she rushed to follow him. She didn't quite make it all the way to the door, though, before Austin waved his hand in front of her face.

"Yoo-hoo?" he asked, grinning.

"What?"

"Didn't you hear me calling you?" he asked good-naturedly. "What is with you today? Is all this second-hand fame going to your head?"

"Something like that," she muttered, watching through the window of the conference room as Tristan rounded the corner out of sight. She sighed. "Sorry. What's up?"

Austin proceeded to fill her in on the dozens of interested responses he'd received so far that day from past press releases. Their blanketed approach was finally paying dividends, and papers who hadn't been interested before suddenly wanted to jump on the bandwagon. He asked for her advice on his replies, and how to retain their interest long enough for the _Daily News's_ one-week embargo to lift.

She would have been thrilled, on any other day.

Today, she couldn't get out of that conference room fast enough. She rattled off her direction to Austin, whose eyes grew slightly wide as his fingers flew across his phone, frantically trying to capture everything she was spewing at him. As she wrapped up, she was already taking small steps toward the door.

Austin pantomimed wiping sweat from his brow. "Phew. You got it. Thanks for the advice."

"Anytime," she acknowledged. "You good?"

She barely stayed long enough to see him nod, and then she was out the door. A glance at her phone showed that she had 7 minute until her next meeting. As much as she knew she wanted more time, 7 minutes was still better than nothing, so she beelined it for Tristan's office and knocked swiftly.

"Yes?" he called.

She opened the door and peeked in to see him look up from the desk. She wasn't sure what she saw flit across his features when he saw her - Surprise? Anxiety? Hope?

"I need to talk to you," she spoke as she moved into his office.

His mouth pressed into a hard line, and he pushed away from his computer, but stayed seated. "Come on in."

Rory stood there awkwardly for a moment, her arms still full of her laptop and files. She moved to set them on one of the chairs facing his desk before she turned back to face him.

"Rory, I don't -" he began.

"Listen, I just -" she started at the same time.

They looked at each other. Tristan held up his hand. "Let me go first."

"No," she interrupted. "I really need to-"

"There you are!"

They both started, and Rory turned to see Macy grinning in the doorway. She barely repressed a groan of frustration. Her 7 minutes were dwindling.

"I figured I might find you here," the other girl continued, eyeing Rory. "And actually, this works out well. Tristan, my news is relevant to you, too."

"What is it?" Rory tried not to let her annoyance influence her tone, but wasn't sure how well she'd accomplished that when Macy's brows furrowed a bit and she quickly glanced between Rory and Tristan.

Macy shrugged it off and strutted into the office. "Guess who I just got off the phone with?"

"Colonel Mustard, in the… No, wait, wrong game." Tristan answered dryly.

Rory shot him a chiding look before she remembered that she wasn't supposed to be getting irritated with him right now. She gave Macy what she hoped was an encouraging smile. "Why don't you fill us in?"

"When I got back to my desk after the meeting, I had a message from Ronald White."

Rory wracked her brain, wondering why that name sounded somewhat familiar.

Macy's gaze slipped back and forth between them again, taking in their confused and expectant stares, and she made a small sound of impatience. "The Business Profiles writer at the _LA Times_! Hello?"

"Oh!" Rory snapped her fingers, remembering. "That's right! He called you? That's awesome, what did he say?"

"Well he said that he'd been impressed with the _Daily News_ piece, and when he'd done some digging, he drudged up our press releases in his inbox." Macy paused to roll her eyes. "Go figure, right? Imagine what gems could be unearthed if these writers just paid attention to their releases! We do send them for a reason, you know?"

"If we could speed this along, that'd be great. I have another meeting coming up in less than five minutes," Tristan prodded.

Rory glanced again at the time. Shit. She made a rolling motion to Macy. "So, where did we land with Ronald White?"

"He asked for an interview with Jason."

"We can't do that right now," Rory asserted, confused at the girl's excitement, because she knew that Macy knew that.

"Right." Macy held up a finger. "But, yours truly thought on her feet and made him another offer that he couldn't refuse. Well, I mean, he could have. Easily. But he didn't!"

"Which was?"

"You!" Macy gestured at Tristan like she was Vanna White.

"Me?" he asked, brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"I told him that Jason isn't doing any more interviews for now, in the short term, but that we had a member of our team who has been on the project since the beginning, has been in charge of garnering corporate interest and has the inside scoop, and Ronald said 'book it!'"

Macy was practically dancing in place to a tune that only she could hear, clearly pleased with herself. Tristan, on the other hand, continued to look perplexed.

"Why the hell would he want to talk to me?"

Rory shrugged. "It's not that unusual. You're basically Jason's right-hand man in this project. I'm sure you've given interviews for clients in the past."

He shook his head. "I've answered a few questions, and I've been quoted. That's different than carrying the whole article myself."

Macy dismissed this with a wave of her hand. "Don't worry about it, you've got Rory Gilmore on your side."

At that, Tristan's eyes slid to Rory's. She held his blue gaze with her own for a second that stretched on. This was one of the first times today that he'd actually looked at her, _really_ looked at her, and since she knew her remaining minutes were slipping away, she tried to convey with her eyes all the sentiments that she hadn't yet been able to voice to him.

Of course, she failed. If she couldn't even put her thoughts and feelings into words, she certainly couldn't be expected to get everything across in one look. He'd probably thought she was just glaring at him. For that, at least, there was precedence.

"Okay," Tristan replied, sounding skeptical. "This guy covers Business Profiles, you said? I'll loop back with Market Research to make sure they can get us those influence maps. When is the interview?"

"Ronald will call you on Wednesday at 7pm Eastern." Macy winced a little. "Sorry for cutting into your evening; he mentioned something about meetings, and deadlines, and I was a little overzealous, so I guess I just jumped on the first time he suggested."

"It's fine. One of you will schedule some time with me beforehand to make sure I'm prepped?"

"You got it," Macy confirmed.

"Is it going to be a Sunday feature?" Rory asked.

Macy grinned and gestured at herself with a flourish. "Would I bring you anything else?"

"Thanks, Macy," Rory offered.

"Sure thing." She began her retreat from the office, but paused in the doorway. "Hey Boss, you coming? You're in this conference call in a minute, right?"

Rory cast one last glance at Tristan, who was watching them both expectantly, likely waiting for them to leave so he could return to his computer.

"Yes, I'm coming," she replied. She let Macy lead the way out, and turned back to Tristan before she closed his office door behind her, lowering her voice. "I still want to talk to you."

He nodded, his face giving nothing away. Rory ground her teeth in frustration as she strode down the hall after Macy.

* * *

THE NEXT DAY, Rory's luck still hadn't improved. Not only had she still not been able to talk to Tristan, but her meeting with Kevin Garrett at the _Daily News_ hadn't gone as smoothly as she would've liked. She'd been hoping that he'd be flattered by the syndication requests, but he stood his ground, claiming that allowing other outlets to republish and share his article would only draw readership away from the _Daily News_. They both knew that he was just being obstinate because he could. Rory had had to go to his editor, and Kevin hadn't been happy about it. Of course, once she and Sophia had explained the impact to the editor, supported by the influence maps from Market Research that showed exactly how many more impressions and views the article stood to gain, syndication was approved and the deal was done.

She sighed as she let herself into her apartment and tossed her keys on the counter. She set her briefcase on the coffee table and sank into the couch. She knew that having pissed off Kevin would mean that she'd have to work twice as hard over the remaining weeks of the campaign to rebuild trust with the rest of the _Daily News_ staff. At least she wouldn't have to worry too much about TerraSync losing coverage from them; the success of Jason's interview spoke for itself, and she knew at least that the editor would force his staff to continue to report on TerraSync's progress. Rory's job now would be to make sure they didn't start to paint the project in an unflattering light because of their grudge.

Although she already knew what she'd find, Rory pulled her phone out of her bag and unlocked it. The only notifications were for the unread emails in her work inbox. Nonetheless, she opened her text conversation with Tristan and stared at it, as if his response could have gone unnoticed. Not a chance.

She'd texted him on Monday night, and again this evening before she left the office. She'd been hoping to catch him after hours, but to her surprise, when she dropped by his office at 5:30, he and his laptop were already gone.

Since her phone was already in her hand, and she could use a slight distraction, she dialed her mom.

Lorelai answered after only one ring. "I guess I can call off the APB. Are you lying in a ditch somewhere and calling me with your dying breath? If you're not, I'm going to be annoyed."

"Hello to you, too."

"Did you lose your phone?" Lorelai demanded. "Lose a thumb, so you couldn't text back?"

Rory winced, remembering that she'd never answered her mother's text from Sunday. Come to think of it, she now remembered that she'd also gotten a call from Lorelai yesterday during a meeting and had tapped Ignore.

Her mother was continuing. "Or maybe you had been captured by a taxi driver and were being held hostage in his basement."

"I've been busy." Rory kicked off her heels and pulled her feet up, settling deeper into the couch cushions.

"Don't you get cell service in that fancy Manhattan office of yours? Surely you could have found two minutes to reply to your mother's text message."

"You texted me a line of dialogue from _Billy Jack_ ," Rory reminded her. "I didn't think I had to hop-to and make it a top priority to write back."

"You're crabby."

Rory sighed. "Sorry."

"Campaign stuff?" her mother guessed, taking on a more sympathetic tone.

"Some campaign stuff," Rory acknowledged. "Mostly other stuff."

Lorelai was silent for a moment. "Want to talk about it?"

Rory was used to talking to her mom about the men in her life. Not all the gritty details, of course, but her mother certainly knew that she wasn't a nun. Still, she felt awkward talking to her about Tristan. She wasn't entirely sure why she hesitated.

"It's Romeo, isn't it?" Lorelai surmised.

Rory toyed with the strap on her laptop bag. "I saw him over the weekend, and we left things in an awkward place, and I haven't been able to talk to him about it since."

"Why not?"

"Because he won't talk to me!" she cried. "The past couple days have been so busy with work that I've barely seen him, except in crowded meetings. I've called and texted him, but he won't reply."

"What did you do?"

"Hey," Rory accused. "What makes you think I did something wrong? Aren't you supposed to be on my side? How do you know I don't want to talk to him about something he did?"

"Because I raised you," Lorelai replied simply.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked suspiciously.

"I know that you know better than to spend your time chasing after a guy who doesn't deserve it. So that means that you think _you_ messed something up."

"Oh." Damn her mother for being so astute.

"So what did you do?"

"I think I accidentally offended him."

"Did your witty repartee get out of hand?"

"Kind of," Rory admitted. "I think that's part of our problem. We can't seem to communicate very well with each other, and I think he misunderstood something I said."

"Misunderstood?" Lorelai repeated skeptically. "What did you say?"

She paused, debating whether to go down this road with her mother. It wasn't like they hadn't been there before. "I told him I wasn't really a casual sex kind of girl."

"It pleases your mother to hear you say that," Lorelai granted. "Besides, you're not fishing for a proposal again, are you?"

Rory smiled in spite of the situation. "That's what Lucy said."

"Oh, I see." Lorelai adopted an indignant tone. "You can find time to talk to Lucy, but not to me."

"I'm sorry," Rory enunciated dramatically. "I couldn't find the time to text you back in between my relationship drama and my thirteen-hour work days."

"I thought you and he weren't in a relationship," Lorelai reminded her. "I remember you insisting something along those lines, multiple times and vehemently."

She hesitated. "We're not. Not yet. This is strictly hypothetical."

"I see. Okay, so you're preemptively freaking out over a hypothetical relationship. Continue."

"I'm not freaking out," Rory corrected. "I'm just trying to smooth things over so we can get back to normal."

"What's normal?"

Good question. That made Rory pause. "I guess I'm not really sure."

"You've been seeing him for, what, a couple weeks now? That's enough time to find some semblance of a status quo."

"We're both just so busy with work, we'd hardly even seen each other much, before this weekend."

It was her mother's turn to sigh. "Tell me again what you said about you not being a casual sex girl. I could stand to hear that again right about now."

Rory groaned. "I know, I know, you don't have to tell me. We hardly know each other! He could be a closeted model airplane builder, or a harpist, or a serial killer." Then she gasped. "What if he's a Republican?"

"Model airplanes, you can deal with. If he's a harpist, you can borrow my noise-cancelling headphones. If he's a serial killer, you can team up, like Dexter and Lumen. If he's a Republican, then clearly you'll have to move and change your number."

"Or not, because I accidentally called him a man whore, he practically kicked me out of his house, and he doesn't even want to talk to me now."

"Or that," Lorelai acknowledged sagely. "But you're trying to track him down, so I assume you don't want to leave things like this."

"Of course I don't," she answered easily. That, at least, was one thing that was crystal clear to her.

"So what do you want?"

Rory should've seen that one coming. She sighed. "Why can't this be easier? I feel like it shouldn't be this complicated."

Lorelai was quiet for a moment. "Have you considered that you might be making it more complicated than it needs to be?"

"Of course I have. Of course I _am_. I know that now."

"Sorry, kid. I think that's kind of a Lorelai thing."

"Great," she grumbled.

"You also got my freakish metabolism, my awesome taste in movies, and my pretty pretty eyes - does that make you feel any better?"

"Not at the moment."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know. That's what I called you for."

"Well, let's recount the facts. He chased you, you rebuffed him. Then you got together. Then you hurt him, and now he won't talk to you."

Rory shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. "That doesn't sound super flattering."

Lorelai continued. "It's a cliched plot for a reason, don't worry. It happens to the best of us. Now, if there's anything I've learned from years of watching melodramatic B-movies - okay, let's face it, D-movies - it's that there may actually be some value in the idea of the 'grand gesture'."

Rory snorted. "Are you telling me to stand outside his house with a boom box?"

"How dare you call _'Say Anything'_ a B-movie!" Lorelai gasped. Then, after a pause, "Do you think that would work?"

"No," she answered definitively. "Given my luck recently, the neighbors would call the cops, and I'd be issued a citation for disturbing the peace. Any other ideas?"

"I think this is probably one you have to figure out on your own."

"You know I hate it when you go all Swiss-neutral on me."

"What can I say? That's my job."

* * *

ON WEDNESDAY, RORY was more determined than ever to rectify the Tristan situation. She was going to find him and force him to talk to her, even if it meant she had to wait outside his apartment all night. Though she was hoping that wouldn't be the case, since she'd just come from a meeting across town, and as she'd walked back to the office from the subway, it had started to rain.

She glanced at the time as she stepped off the elevator. Her umbrella rested against the wall in her office; she hadn't thought she'd need it until she left for the night, though she also hadn't thought her meeting would run so late. The rain hadn't been the only reason she'd been rushing her way back. It was past 6 PM, and she was hoping that she hadn't missed Tristan.

She headed directly to his office, not bothering to stop by her own first to drop off her briefcase. As she approached, she saw light spilling past his open door, and the all-too-familiar butterflies in her stomach began to swarm. It seemed she was finally going to get her chance to catch him alone. She self-consciously brought her hands to the belt sitting high around her waist, and smoothed her shirt underneath. _Here goes nothing_.

When she reached his door, she was surprised to be greeted by Macy, who stood behind Tristan's desk, reading his computer over his shoulder. She looked up as Rory entered. "Hey, boss. Are you here to help with interview prep?"

Rory blinked. She realized she'd completely forgotten about Tristan's interview with the _LA Times_ , and that wasn't like her. That only further proved to her that she needed to work this out with him. She'd thought that ceding to a relationship with him was going to be distracting, but now the thought of that was nothing. At least, nothing compared to the distraction of the twisting and churning in her gut she'd gotten used to over the past few days when she had to question whether she still had any chance with him.

"Boss?" Macy prodded at Rory's silence.

"Don't call me boss," she snapped.

Macy's eyes widened slightly, and Rory immediately knew that her tone had come out much more clipped than she'd intended.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. She appreciated that Macy was just doing her job, but if Rory didn't get to speak to Tristan alone, and soon, then heads were going to roll. She grasped at the straw that Macy had offered. "Yes, I'm here for the interview prep. I just got back from my meeting, and figured I'd offer to take over, so you can get out of here."

"It's okay, I don't mind," Macy insisted.

Rory slid her eyes to Tristan's, and saw him already watching her. She swallowed. She hadn't seen him all day, and all day she'd been wondering whether her 'gesture' would resonate, or whether she was just making a fool of herself. Without taking her eyes from his, she spoke again to Macy. "I insist. Tristan and I have other things to discuss."

Macy shifted her weight between her feet, glancing uneasily back and forth between the two of them. Apparently Rory wasn't the only one who felt the weight in Tristan's silence and the intensity in his gaze.

"Right," Macy drawled, backing away. "On second thought, that sounds good, actually. I'm just going to go… away."

Rory followed the other woman to the door and closed it behind her before she turned back to Tristan. He'd stood from his chair and now leaned back against the front of his desk, his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at her.

"Nice shirt," he commented.

She smiled, relieved. So he had noticed. "Thanks. I wore it especially for you."

He raised a curious brow, but aside from that, he remained stoic and silent.

"I'd hoped it would help me get your attention," she admitted.

"You have my attention, Rory. You've never needed any help in that department."

"Could've fooled me," she said, but then checked her tone. Her goal wasn't to argue. "I've been trying to talk to you for days. I feel like you've been avoiding me again."

"I haven't been avoiding you," he said.

"I haven't been able to catch you at the office, so I've called and texted, but you haven't replied." She wondered how much of her pathetic chase she should admit to, but didn't wonder long; if they were going to talk, she'd let it all out in the open. "I went to your house last night"

At that, he looked surprised. "You did?"

"You weren't home," she informed him needlessly.

"I had a dinner with the CEO and President of a tech company," he told her. "They said they're interested in about $2 million worth of work with TerraSync if the company launches after the pilot. And that's just in the first two years."

"Wow," Rory acknowledged. That was certainly better than some of the scenarios her mind had been contriving as she'd walked home from his place. She'd never considered herself the jealous type, but she hadn't been able to help but wonder if he'd been out with another woman.

"I haven't been avoiding you," he repeated. "I've been giving you space."

She focused on his face, still unable to read his expression. "Who said I needed space?"

"I made the decision for you, since you clearly struggle with decision-making on your own."

She wanted to be able to snap back at him and tell him he was wrong, but who was she kidding? They both knew that he wasn't. She could recognize that now, and although arguing with him was her first instinct, that wasn't what she was here for tonight.

"You're right," she admitted.

"See, that's exactly what I'm…" he trailed off, then blinked at her, clearly not having expected her response. "Wait, what?"

"You're right," she repeated. "And I'm sorry."

He lowered his brow and looked at her suspiciously, taking a step closer to inspect her. "Have you hit your head recently?"

She bit her bottom lip to prevent it from curving up, and shook her head.

"Been drinking?" he asked again, drawing closer still.

"No. But I've been thinking."

"As dangerous an activity as any, in the mind of Rory Gilmore."

"True," she admitted. "But do you remember the other morning in your kitchen, when you asked me what I was trying to figure out?"

"Of course. It was right before you insulted me, and then ran away, even after you promised you wouldn't."

"I didn't run away, you kicked me out!" she cried indignantly.

"Just because you didn't physically leave doesn't mean you didn't run away," he accused. "You were already making up excuses for why things wouldn't work between us."

"I wasn't making up-" She cut herself off before she let him sidetrack her further. She took a cleansing breath and locked her eyes on his. "Fine. You're right again. Happy?"

Tristan looked over his shoulder and craned his neck toward the window, looking out into the night.

"What are you doing?"

When he turned back toward her, his eyes were still guarded, but the corner of his mouth was curved in a smile. "Looking for signs of the apocalypse."

She swatted a hand against his chest, then paused again and locked eyes with his. When had he moved so close to her?

"You were saying I was right?" he prompted.

"Yep, not going to live that down, am I?" she muttered. But she carried on with the mini speech she'd prepared. "I've been wanting to talk to you for the past few days, because I wanted to apologize. I hadn't really meant to, but I guess I'd been giving off the impression that I wanted to keep some distance between us."

He gave her another skeptical look, and she acquiesced, rolling her eyes to the ceiling before allowing them to settle back on his.

"Fine, I guess I _did_ mean to. It's because I was… nervous. About what it would mean for us to work together, and be together."

Her breath caught in her throat when he reached out a hand to gently push her hair back over her shoulder. "And now?"

"Now, I've gained added perspective."

"How so?" he asked. His hand traced lightly up and down her arm, toying with the button at the cuff of her sleeve that was rolled up to her elbow.

"I was afraid that a relationship with you would be distracting," she started, pausing to steady her breathing while he fingered the collar of her shirt. "But over these past 72 hours, I've been even more distracted by the thought of _not_ being with you."

He used his fingers to tilt her chin and make her look up at him again. She was relieved to see that his eyes had become warm, and a smile played on his lips. "Is that so?"

"Have I already blown it?" she asked softly. "Have I run away too many times?"

"Once was too many," he informed her. "But at least now I know where you live. I never would've let you out that door if I hadn't known where I could find you."

She breathed a sigh of relief, or maybe of other things. His fingers had moved down her neck, tracing the opened buttons until he came to the point of the V across her chest.

"I wouldn't have let you leave if I'd known I wouldn't get this back," he continued. He flicked open the top button of the white Oxford. "This is my favorite shirt."

Her breathing got shallower as he flicked open the next one. Her anxiety for the past few days, her nerves during her speech, and the maddening warmth of his fingers all came to a head, and she couldn't help the words spilling from her mouth. She started to ramble.

"It was a gesture," she explained. "I don't have a boombox, and I didn't think holding up my phone would have the same effect. The shirt is a symbol. It was supposed to show you that I don't need boundaries between us at the office, if you don't want."

"It's showing me a lot more than that." He'd undone her buttons all the way down to the shiny red belt just below her chest, and he looked down at her appreciatively as he used his thumbs to spread the ends of the shirt further apart, exposing her bra and the top curves of her breasts.

She looked down at herself and then back up at him in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"At first I was just going to see how far you'd let me go with the buttons." His smile ratcheted up a notch. "But then you didn't stop me, and things got real interesting."

"Were you even listening to me?" His eyes had gone smokey, so she needed the confirmation that her apology hadn't fallen on deaf, distracted ears. "I think we can both agree that there's nothing wrong with the physical part of this relationship, but that's not what I came here for tonight."

His eyes were on hers, though his fingers were still closed over either side of her half-open shirt. "I heard you before. I also heard that you just called this a relationship."

Her heartbeat thumped right beneath his thumb and the knuckles of his curved hand. "Do you want to contest that definition?"

He shook his head, his eyes teasing. "Not at all. I was just waiting for your eye to start twitching or something at the mere thought of being in a relationship with me."

"Do you see me twitching?" she demanded, purposefully unblinking as she stared up at him while she slid her hands up his arms to his shoulders.

He dipped his head down, so close now that she could feel his warm breath against her skin. He brushed his lips against hers before he spoke against her mouth. "Not yet. Just give me a minute."

Using his hands on her shirt, he tugged her closer and captured her mouth with his. His tongue traced the seam of her lips before she opened to him, and his fingers tightened against her as he kissed her hungrily. A soft moan escaped her throat as she clutched at his shoulders, and he responded by sliding his hands around to her sides, down over her hips, and around to her behind, pulling her flush against him. His kiss grew more urgent, his tongue stroking over hers again and again in hot, possessive sweeps until she was breathless.

When they finally had to pull back for air, her knees were shaking slightly. She let Tristan pull her around to perch on the edge of his desk. He ran his hands up her thighs, bunching her skirt as he went, making room for her knees to spread further so he could step between them.

His hand rose to her neck, tilting her head up to his, and he leaned down again right before his phone rang, interrupting them. He made a masculine sound of impatience that made her smile, and he tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear before he leaned around her to pick up his phone. He cleared his throat before he answered.

"Tristan Dugray." He held her gaze while he listened to the other line. "Sure, Ronald, this is still a good time."

She'd forgotten again about his interview. So much for taking the time to help him get prepped.

He stepped out from between her legs and crossed the room, and she took the opportunity to hop off his desk, smooth out her skirt, and refasten her shirt. When she'd finished putting herself back together, he was sitting back in his desk chair, talking to the reporter on the phone as if he hadn't just been kissing her senseless. It was back to business.

He caught her eye and raised his brows as he listened to Ronald White on the line. "Do I want to comment on the _Daily News_ ' interview?"

Rory shook her head and pointed at the whiteboard on his wall that contained scribbled notes for their upcoming fundraiser. Tristan gave her a subtle nod and relayed the answer to the reporter. "No, we don't have any further comments on Jason's interview. But I can tell you about the black tie gala coming up, and of the executives who will be in attendance to learn more about a potential future partnership with TerraSync."

Ronald White had attempted to bait Tristan into talking about the _Daily News_ coverage, which meant he had probably surmised that they had an embargo in place. That wasn't surprising; it wasn't uncommon, and it wasn't necessarily a secret. The fact that he thought he might be able to get Tristan to talk about it and break terms, however, clued her into the fact that Ronald suspected Tristan wasn't an experienced interviewee.

She came around his desk and perched lightly on the arm of his office chair. She reached out to his computer to pull up a blank word document, and gestured for him to put the call on speaker. He complied, and she listened in to the rest of Ronald's questions. After getting rebuffed on the interview comment, he lobbed a few softball questions, and Rory just sat back and listened to Tristan easily bat them out of the park. Tristan was able to get in some great facts and figures about the corporate backing that TerraSync had already generated, even in pilot stage.

When Ronald threw the occasional hardball, Rory leaned forward and her fingers flew over Tristan's keyboard, typing out rough instructions and notes to help guide his answers. For the most part, though, Tristan did just fine on his own, even though they'd accidentally repurposed his prep time. He gave a damn good interview, in her humble opinion, and she knew a good interview when she saw one. She stood from his chair to give him some space as he wrapped up the phone call.

"That went well," she told him after he hung up.

"Thanks." He smirked at her. "Are you impressed again?"

She smiled and nodded her head in acknowledgement. "I am."

"Are you ready to get out of here?" he asked next, his voice lower.

"I _so_ am," she replied emphatically.

She grabbed her briefcase while Tristan packed up his laptop and files. "Long day?" he guessed.

"Long three days," she admitted with a sigh. She glanced up at him for his reaction.

His eyes were warm as he looked down at her, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. "For me, too."

With his hand at the small of her back, he steered her out of his office, flicking off the light as they exited. The hallway was dim, the building's overhead lights having gone into power-saving mode an hour ago. Rory hesitated as they drew closer to the elevator, remembering her dash from the subway after her meeting earlier.

"I'm pretty sure it's raining," she told him.

"Forget your umbrella?" he asked knowingly. "Lucky for you, I have mine, and I'm feeling generous again. We can share."

Her lips curved up in a secret smile, and she looked down at the ground before he could see. "That sounds great. Thanks."

When they stepped outside, she let Tristan tuck her securely into his side, his umbrella sheltering them both from the heavy rainfall. They debriefed on his interview on their way to the subway, and this time, Rory didn't fight against the sensation of his breath on her neck as he spoke into her ear. His hand was firm and reassuring at her back, and he occasionally let it slide over to her hip to pull her closer when he felt that she was veering too far outside the umbrella's reach.

They boarded the subway together, and conversation eventually shifted away from the interview and the away from the campaign altogether.

"You really went to my house last night?" Tristan asked.

Rory sat with her right thigh flush against his on the cramped subway seat, and could feel the warmth of his skin through his pant leg and her skirt. He was looking down at her, waiting for her response. She nodded. "You wouldn't return my calls, and I wanted to talk to you."

"You don't know how many times I almost called," he told her.

"Oh yeah?" She wasn't sure if she should be glad that he'd at least wanted to call, or still nervous that he hadn't.

"But I'd told myself I was going to give you your space until at least Friday," he admitted.

"What was going to happen on Friday?" she asked, not sure if she wanted to know.

"That's when I was going to track you down and demand an answer about what you were thinking about us." He considered her before he spoke again. "I don't know if I could've made it until Friday, though."

"I obviously couldn't."

He nudged her knee with his and shared a conspiratorial smile. "I'm glad."

"Good."

"So are we on the same page now?" he asked, repeating the same question he'd posed before.

She thought about that. She felt more relaxed this evening than she had in days, if not weeks. She knew they still had some things to talk about, but hoped that if she could remain honest with herself and with him, that part would come easily enough.

"I think we're at least reading out of the same book," she offered.

"I can live with that." He draped an arm across her shoulders. "So, tonight - this wasn't so hard, was it?"

"What wasn't?" she asked.

"Conversation. Dialogue. A grown-up discussion."

She gave him a rueful smile. "No, I guess it wasn't."

"Let's try to remember that for next time then, shall we?"

She appreciated that he seemed to be including himself in that, but she recognized that the blame was mostly her own. "I'll try."

"Don't worry, I'll remind you," he promised.

"I'm sure you will."

"So tell me," he began after a few moment of silence, a teasing light in his eyes. "What was the shirt supposed to mean, again?"

"Shut up."

"Did I hear something about a boombox?" He chuckled when she elbowed him half-heartedly. "You said it was to get my attention, which you've certainly done."

"You said I already had it," she pointed out. "So the shirt was redundant, it seems."

"That's true, the shirt was redundant," he granted. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "I prefer you without one."

She tried to elbow him again, but he was ready this time, blocking her with his free hand.

"Although now that I think of it," he continued. "As much as I like to see you in no clothes, I think I'm really starting to develop an appreciation of you in _my_ clothes."

His breath was warm against her neck, his head tucked in right next to hers. Rory reminded herself that they were hardly the most scandalous thing that New York subway-goers would see that day; a tiny amount of PDA surely wouldn't even register on the scale. But she still felt self-conscious, and tried to scoot away from him. His arm around her shoulder tightened, keeping her in place.

"First my t-shirt, and now this." His fingers plucked at the side of the white button-down shirt, and then his warm hand slid across her abdomen, splaying across her stomach. Beneath his touch, her belly tightened in anticipation.

She gripped his wrist and forced his hand away. "You're distracting."

"Clearly." He grinned and stood from his seat. "You haven't even noticed that the train has stopped."

Rory tore her eyes from his to look around and register her surroundings, realizing that he was right. She sighed and shook her head at him. "You're really having a field day with this whole 'being right' thing, aren't you?"

He laughed. "You wanted me to just let us miss our stop?"

She huffed as she bent down to gather up the strap of her briefcase. "You don't get to tell me when to get off."

When she looked back up, she saw the hand he held out to her, and beyond that, his laughing eyes and mischievous smile. "Come on. I'm going to show you how wrong you are."


	13. Oh Don't You Put Me On A Backburner

**Don't Let Me Slide**

 **Disclaimer:** Gilmore Girls characters and settings were created by Amy Sherman-Palladino and are property of Dorothy Parker Drank Here Productions, Hofflund/Polone, and Warner Bros. Television.

 **A/N:** Phew! So glad Rory's getting over herself! Now that that's out of the way, it's all smooth sailing from here, right? ;-)

 **Chapter 13 - Oh Don't You Put Me On A Backburner**

Rory wished she could turn her brain off. She lay staring up at her bedroom ceiling, watching the blades of the fan circle above her. The musky scent of sex still lingered in the air, and Tristan's body beside her radiated warmth. His breathing was even, and she knew she should let the sound lull her to sleep. Instead, she felt restless. Unsettled.

She couldn't help but reflect back on the apology speech she'd given him earlier that evening. In hindsight, she realized that she'd done most of the talking, and he'd done mostly other things that didn't involve talking. Despite having spent the last hour and a half finishing what they'd started back in his office before his interview, and proving Tristan right once again, Rory found herself dwelling on the remaining unfinished business between them.

 _Model airplanes, you can deal with,_ her mother had told her. Had that really been only yesterday that she'd spoken to Lorelai? It seemed like a lot had happened since then. _If he's a harpist, you can borrow my noise-cancelling headphones. If he's a serial killer, you can team up, like Dexter and Lumen._

"Tristan?" she whispered tentatively into the darkness.

He responded with a low humming sound but didn't make a move. She couldn't be sure whether he was actually awake or not, so she tried again.

"Tristan!" she whispered louder.

He mumbled an incoherent response into his pillow, barely stirring.

"Are you awake?" she whisper-yelled.

He didn't remove his face from his pillow, but he did barely raise a hand and wave it vaguely in her direction. "No."

"Who did you vote for in the last local election?" she blurted.

He groaned and slowly turned his face out of his pillow to look at her, blinking slowly. His voice was rough with sleep. "What?"

Then, an even more horrible thought occurred to her and she pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him. "Oh my God. You did vote, didn't you?"

He sighed. Maybe it was the abject horror on her face that spurred him into action, but he slowly moved to pull himself up to lean against the headboard and then reached out to draw her in against him.

His voice was still rough, and he kept it low. His near-whisper in her ear made her shiver pleasantly. "What are you talking about?"

She felt vulnerable with him peering at her so closely, and with her bare legs brushing against his under the covers as she pulled her knees up. She fiddled with the top sheet until he gently pulled it out of her fingers.

"Why the sudden interest in my voting history?" he asked.

She shifted uncomfortably, wishing she had waited to bring it up at a more civilized hour. Or never.

"Rory?" he prompted again.

She was still avoiding his gaze, though she could feel his eyes on her like a spotlight. "We don't really know each other."

She felt him shift and then his fingers were on her chin, turning her face toward him. "Okay. Why don't you tell me what you think I need to know?"

Her pulse quickened, and she wasn't sure if it was from his touch or the way he was looking at her, but either way, she decided it wasn't entirely unpleasant. Every intention of having a serious conversation with him was melting away against in the heat of his body against hers. The important thoughts that had been running rampant through her mind only minutes ago had gone scurrying away, and she struggled to grasp onto any of them. The seconds were ticking by under his gaze, and she knew she had to say something; she could only hope that it would be coherent.

"My favorite food is Indian," she breathed.

She felt his muscles relax beside her, and she searched his face as best she could in the dark. Had he been nervous? What had he thought she was going to say?

"Okay," he told her. "What else?"

She wracked her brain. What had she thought was so important a few minutes ago? He had pulled her in until she was pressed against his bare chest, and the physical intimacy between them was still so new that it made her heart race every time. It was incredibly distracting. She felt his own heartbeat under her hand, and she took a breath. She'd woken him up to talk, so she couldn't back out now.

She'd wanted to talk about him, she remembered. There were so many things she didn't know about him, and she realized that she wanted to know them. But the questions she had about him suddenly seemed too forthright. Not that they were terribly intimate questions - she wanted to know about his voting history, yes, and also know more about his career and what had led him there. She wanted to know his favorite food, and his favorite movie, and what made him tick.

She didn't know how to broach those topics and satisfy her curiosity without bombarding him with questions that would make her feel like a 14-year-old girl with a crush. Actually, she was pretty sure her questions were right out of a feature in _Tiger Beat_.

Maybe she could lead in by opening up herself. He'd mentioned before that he couldn't read her - though she found that hard to believe, maybe she could start off the conversation and then turn it around in a tit-for-tat way. As she thought about what to tell him, her eyes landed on the window across the room, and she saw the raindrops streaking down the glass, making her think back to their walk to the subway. He'd kept sliding his hand down to cup her hip as they'd walked, much as he was doing right now, albeit with fewer layers of clothing between them. He'd made her pleased with her decision to let him believe the little white lie about her forgotten umbrella, which was actually still leaning against the wall in her office.

"Was that all?" Tristan asked, interrupting her thoughts.

His voice drew her back to the present, and she realized it had been a minute since she'd spoken. She looked back up at him, flattening her hand against his chest for leverage as she craned her neck. She studied him, deciding what she could tell him. It felt important that she admit it.

"I'm not very good at accepting help. I don't like to need it."

He gave a small huff of laughter, making her hand on his chest rise and fall. "I think I'd figured that one out for myself."

"I'm working on it," she told him quietly.

"I appreciate that." His tone surprised her.

"Does it bother you?" she asked tentatively.

It seemed it was his turn to pause. For a minute, she didn't think he was going to answer, but then he made his quiet admission. "I'm not good at not being needed."

She strained again to read his face, and again wished that she'd waited until morning to have this conversation. She tried to tease him, to bring some levity to cut the tension that now hung in the air. "Must be the competitive streak in you."

"Something like that," he agreed. His thumb was tracing soft circles where his hand lay curled against her side. He hadn't teased her back. His pensiveness unnerved her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she finally asked.

It took him another few moments to respond, and when he did, it wasn't at all what she was expecting.

"Why didn't you want to marry Huntzberger?" he asked.

The question threw her, and she sputtered a bit. "What?"

"You told me once that Huntzberger proposed to you, and you turned him down," Tristan reminded her, as if she could've forgotten. "I've been wondering why."

"Why have you been wondering that?" she asked.

"Call it morbid curiosity."

"That was ten years ago," she hedged.

He considered that for a moment. "It was at Yale, then?"

Rory nodded against his chest, still wondering why he wanted to talk about this. "It was right before graduation. At my graduation party, actually. In front of my whole family."

Tristan made a sympathetic hissing sound. "You rejected his proposal in front of a party of people?"

"Not exactly. I pulled him aside and told him I wanted to think about it."

"And did you?" Tristan asked. "Think about it?"

"Of course. It was a huge decision. I told him I wanted a few days to think everything through."

He gave a soft sigh of laughter. "Of course you did."

"What made you think about this?" she asked. "It feels like a lifetime ago. We were different people then."

"Do you think things would be different if he asked you today?"

"I haven't even talked to him in years," she argued. "That possibility is so far outside the realm of reality, I can't even fathom an answer."

"Try," Tristan urged her. "Not as if he just asked again out of the blue, but if you were still together. Are you different enough people now that your answer would be different, too?"

"Why are we talking about this?" she asked, pushing back to get a better look at him. "Where is this coming from?"

"I told you, it's just something I've been wondering about."

"And I told you, I don't talk to Logan anymore." She considered the shadow of his profile, still unsure why he could be wanting to talk about this. "You don't have competition from him, trust me."

"That's not what I'm worried about," he assured her with a smile. As if to prove his point or stake his claim, he reached his hand between her knees, gripping her by her inner thigh and dragging her lower body closer to him.

"But you're worried about something?" she prodded.

"No. It's nothing. Nevermind."

He let silence stretch between them after that, apparently having dropped the subject, but the gears in Rory's mind kept turning, trying to figure him out. And, now that he'd opened the door, she couldn't help thinking about it.

"It's really not something I've thought about in a long time," she told him. "That night when Mitchum was at dinner was the first time I've thought about the Huntzbergers in years."

Tristan remained quiet, singularly focused on trailing his fingers up and down the inside of her leg, making her shiver. She couldn't be sure in the dark, but it looked like his eyes were closed.

She wasn't evading his question; she really hadn't thought anything about Logan's proposal for the past several years. Sure, there were times during the year after graduation when she'd thought about what it may have been like, and how different her life would have become. But she was happy with where she'd ended up, and she hadn't had any of those 'What if' moments in quite some time. At his prompting, though, she couldn't help but reflect on his question.

"I may have said yes," she finally decided. "If things had been different, I mean. It's not so much about being different people, it's more about the timing. If we both were the people that we were then, but at different times in our lives... I might have wanted to marry him."

"Hmm," was Tristan's only reply. His fingers had hesitated in their gentle circles while she spoke, but now he resumed.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"You and your 'almost marriage' girl," she prompted.

"Katherine," he offered.

Rory turned the name over in her mind, mouthing it silently to herself, trying it out. Tristan and Katherine. Katherine and Tristan. Their names sounded good together; almost regal. Like a couple from classic literature.

She pulled herself back to the conversation, remembering what she'd been curious about. "If the timing was different, would you still have asked her?"

"No," he replied easily.

She left space for him to continue, but when it became clear that he wasn't planning to, she prompted him again. "You're that sure?"

She felt his chin move against her hair as he nodded. "It wasn't that long ago, for us. About five years, give or take. I don't think anything would have turned out differently if it had happened now instead of then."

"What did happen?" she asked.

Her hand on his chest rose as he took a deep, controlled breath, and then let it out. She waited, but he still didn't make a move to answer. She remembered what he'd said at the bar that night when they'd talked about this before. She'd had the ring, she'd had the dress. He'd been _in_ a tux. That had stuck with her, and her curiosity burned. She tried to think of how to phrase it delicately enough.

"You implied before that it was sort of a late decision," she offered carefully. "To not go through with it, I mean."

"You could say that," he agreed.

She pushed herself up to look in his eyes, and he must've been able to read the concern etched in her own. He gave another huff of laughter. "Don't worry, it wasn't all that dramatic. I wasn't standing at the altar in front of all our friends and family or anything."

Rory relaxed a little. That was sort of what she'd been afraid of. She tucked her head back underneath his chin, deciding not to push him for more, though giving him the silence to break if he wanted.

He didn't, apparently. Though her curiosity was overwhelming, she didn't know how far she should push him. Then again, she wondered if he had given the same consideration before he'd started down the Logan path of questioning.

"What did happen?" she asked simply. Then she held her breath, wondering whether he'd answer.

Just when she thought she might faint from lack of oxygen, he sighed, and she gulped in a breath, hanging on every sound he made.

"We never quite made it to the altar," Tristan revealed quietly. "Something came up, and she wanted to postpone. That extra bit of time gave me the opportunity I apparently needed to really see the signs in front of me, and we ended up just calling the whole thing off."

Rory took her time processing these new pieces of the puzzle, even though some of them still didn't fit. Like the fact that he'd said he was _in_ a tux. He'd said they never quite made it to the altar, but how far did they get? What could have possibly 'come up' that precluded a wedding for which there was already a ring, a dress, and a tux?

Tristan's fingers had stopped tracing patterns across her skin, and she noticed that his muscles had tensed slightly beneath her. She decided not to press any further for tonight. Instead, she impulsively turned her face and pressed her lips against the skin closest to her, in the middle of his chest.

There was quiet between them again for a few moments and Rory let her eyes drift closed for a few seconds before she felt him sigh again.

"So what else did you think we needed to know about each other before morning?" he asked somewhat warily.

She opened her eyes, realizing that it was becoming a bit of a struggle. She spoke around a yawn. "I'm not a serial killer."

"Good to know." He sounded amused, if slightly confused. "Me neither."

She felt her lips curve. That was something, at least.

"That's all for tonight, then," she announced. Then she patted his chest with her hand. "To be continued."

She felt Tristan's body relax under her again, and then he was easing himself and her away from the headboard, pulling them back down to the pillows. He easily adjusted his grip on her so that he was still holding her against him, and she felt his warm breath against her neck.

"I like the sound of that," he murmured.

Rory listened to the sound of his breathing as it evened out. She successfully sent her brain into hibernation, and this time, she did let the sound of his breathing, along with the warmth from his body, lull her to sleep.

THURSDAY PASSED IN a blur. Rory and Tristan had both accidentally overslept, having forgotten to set an alarm, and he was still pulling his shoes on as she'd practically pushed him out the door so they could rush through their morning routines in their respective homes.

She'd then emerged from the shower to find a text message from Tristan.

 _ **You're not tying on your running shoes, are you?**_

She pursed her lips upon reading that message, knowing she probably deserved it. She sent him a quick reply to try to alleviate his concern.

 _ **Just for the run into work. No other reason.**_

Her message had apparently left more to be desired, though, since she'd opened her door that morning and nearly run smack into Tristan's chest. Only some fancy footwork on his part had saved them both from being drenched in hot coffee from the two cups he held in his hands. She'd then called him a God, stretched up on her toes to kiss him lightly, and promptly took a long drag from the cup he offered her, nearly moaning in pleasure. She was rewarded with his best lopsided grin, and then he'd taken her elbow and steered them both to the subway, telling her that he'd felt compelled to verify her footwear for himself. He'd been satisfied with her peep-toe pumps, which they both agreed were not conducive to running.

They'd shared seats on the train into work for the first time, though Tristan had had to take a phone call during the journey, and Rory was absorbed in answering emails from her phone. Then they'd gotten to the Panoramic building, and had been swept up in the daily grind.

She knew that Tristan had had another business dinner on Thursday night, and Rory herself had put in another long day, finally dragging herself home around 10pm. She then squeezed in another hour's worth of work from her laptop on the couch, before falling into bed to catch up on the sleep she'd missed the night before thanks to a certain blue-eyed distraction.

It was now Friday afternoon, and that same blue-eyed distraction had become a constant presence at the edge of her concentration. He sat across the table and one seat to her left, well within her line of sight to either the meeting facilitator or the whiteboard upon which they were documenting project plan updates.

She tried her best to remain focused on the meeting, but damn if he wasn't a magnet for both her eyes and her attention, because she was finding him increasingly difficult to ignore. His brow was furrowed ever-so-slightly in concentration as he typed notes on his laptop, his eyes occasionally flicking between the speaker and his computer screen.

As she watched, he leaned across the table to grab one of the bottles of water that remained from their working lunch. He used his long, dexterous fingers to unscrew the cap, and then tilted the bottle to his lips. She watched his Adam's apple bob as he drained half the bottle, and then her eyes moved to his lips as he drew the bottle away. His tongue slid across his bottom lip, and suddenly the room was much too warm.

She reached for her own bottle of water, and busied herself with taking several long gulps. Mustering her resolve, she returned her attention to the meeting, and though the current topics of discussion were of little interest to her, she diligently took notes anyway.

That is, until she caught movement in her peripheral, and her gaze shifted slightly back to Tristan, who was now reclining in his swivel chair, clasping his fingers behind his head as he stretched. He had already shed his jacket, which was draped over the back of his chair. His shirt pulled tight across his broad shoulders, and she followed the clean lines of linen all the way down to his tapered waist, where the shirt was tucked into his pants. She wished at that moment for x-ray vision, because she knew that shirt was hiding tight, toned abdominals with that perfect masculine V-shape that framed his blonde happy trail, which happily trailed right down to…

He suddenly leaned forward in his chair, bringing his arms down and resting his elbows on the table. She dragged her eyes back up his abdomen, chest, and up to his face, where a slow smirk was already forming. When her gaze finally met his eyes, they were locked on her, and she knew that she was caught.

She quickly pulled her eyes away while her face heated, and forced her attention back to the meeting. At least, that was her intention.

Her gaze kept wandering back to him involuntarily, and every single time, his eyes would meet hers almost immediately. How did he know exactly when she was looking at him?

At first, she looked quickly away each time, but eventually she stopped caring that he'd caught her. The jig was up, anyway. The next time he caught her eye, she held his, and saw his eyebrow raise in response. His smirk turned into a full-blown, lopsided grin.

Finally, the never-ending meeting was over. Rory studiously ignored the feeling of eyes on her as she answered a question from the coworker seated next to her.

That feeling of being watched really was distracting, she decided, but she continued to ignore him even as she exited the conference room. It became evident that she wasn't alone as she felt his eyes remain glued to her even after she turned down the hallway toward her office, in the opposite direction of Tristan's.

The weight of his gaze became impossibly heavy, to the point that it felt nearly like a physical touch. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she felt his eyes sweeping over her. When she opened the door to her office and stepped into the room, she didn't turn back around, but heard him enter a few steps behind her and pull the door closed after him.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist to spin her gently until she was facing him. He walked her backwards, away from the door, and wasted no time in pinning her to the adjacent wall with his body.

"I thought we talked about you not looking at me like that," he murmured in her ear.

"I don't recall making any such promises," she told him. Then she gasped as his mouth lowered to trace the skin of her neck. She belatedly remembered to argue in her own defense. "I also don't know what supposed 'look' you could possibly be referring to."

"Mhm."

Rory shivered at the reverberation of his voice at her ear, feeling his breath on her neck. Her own breathing grew shallow and somewhat ragged when his mouth moved to the spot just under her ear, and she felt his tongue dart out to taste her skin.

She made a small, embarrassing sound that was halfway between a moan and a squeak, but then his mouth was over hers, muffling her. He kissed her swiftly and soundly before drawing back.

"Jesus, Rory," he breathed. "What were you trying to do?"

She was still trying to catch her breath. "Me? What about you? You were distracting me."

He breathed a soft laugh, and looked down at her with dark eyes. "Oh, no. You don't get to tell me about _distracting_."

He shifted slightly then, pressing his hips against hers and letting her feel the concrete evidence of his _distraction_. She sucked in a breath and felt a jolt of heat spread outward from the pit of her stomach.

But then he was pulling away, managing to put the necessary distance between them, even though she was still stuck, plastered to the wall. She managed to gather her shaky knees under her and get herself together, walking around the edge of her desk.

"I guess this is neither the time nor the place for either of us to be so distracted," she lamented.

"I have better, more appropriate times and places in mind," he agreed. "Later tonight, for instance. At my place."

That time and place sounded pretty good to Rory, if a little further away than she would've preferred, to be honest. But she sighed, knowing how much work she had ahead of her this weekend. She'd been planning on putting in another long night at the office.

Sensing her hesitancy, Tristan jumped back in, giving her his best smile. "I'm planning on buying you dinner first, if that helps."

"Oh, well you should have said so," she teased.

"So?" he prompted. "Seven o'clock? I'll pick you up at your place?"

She pursed her lips. "I was joking, before. It's not about dinner. I'm just really not sure I can go."

"Why not?" he demanded.

She gestured vaguely at her desk and the to-do list that sat there with a long list of entries. "I have a ton of work to do. The press kits for the Gala are due on Monday, and there's so much that still needs to be done. Not to mention, I'm working on arranging more interviews for Jason next week after the _Daily News_ deal expires. And there's also…"

She trailed off as he leaned in closer to her, her breath nearly catching, but then she watched as he twisted around and stealthily swiped the to-do list off her desk, along with a pen. He withdrew and she watched as he quickly got to work on striking off every single item.

"What do you know, your schedule just cleared!" he announced with a grin.

She gaped at him in horror. He violated the sanctity of her to-do list!

"I can't believe you just did that!" she sputtered.

He rolled his eyes. "It's not like you're not going to still do everything anyway."

"Of course, but crossing things off is one of the best parts!" she argued. "It's so satisfying. And now you've ruined it."

"What if I can make it up to you with something even more satisfying?" He raised an eyebrow.

She paused while considering that offer. After a few beats, he smirked, knowing he'd won.

"Seven o'clock?" he repeated cockily.

"Seven o'clock," she agreed with a sigh, although she also wore a small smile.

"I'll give you some time alone now with your to-do list," he told her as he turned to the door.

"Hey!" She called out to him before he left, and he paused in the doorway to look back at her. "You can't count on me being available at the drop of a hat every time you ask, you know. I could have had other plans tonight."

His smirk slipped, and his brow furrowed. He stepped back inside her office and moved closer to her. "You're right. I must just be one lucky asshole."

"As long as that's clear, then." She nodded, satisfied.

He seemed to think for a moment, and then he reached out a hand to her expectantly. After a beat, she reached out her own hand for him to grasp.

"Rory Gilmore," he began. "Would you please do me the honor of being my date tomorrow night?"

She cocked her head, confused. "Not tonight?"

"No, tonight is still on. You already agreed. No take-backs," he warned, raising an eyebrow at her in warning. "I'm just thinking ahead."

She felt a smile tugging at her lips. "I see. Okay. Well can't I wait and see how tonight goes before I decide about tomorrow?"

He tightened his grip on her hand. "I'd rather get the commitment right up-front. Besides, you're the one who just told me I couldn't ask at the last minute."

"In that case, sure, why not? Tomorrow night, you're on."

He smiled. She looked down at their hands expectantly, waiting for him to release her, but he didn't. Instead, he continued.

"Rory Gilmore," he began again. "Would you please also allow me the honor of your company next Friday night?"

She raised her brows. " _Next_ Friday?"

He nodded, and though the corners of his lips were twitching as he fought a grin, his eyes were earnest. "I'm just following instructions, and trying to shore things up to the best of my ability."

She chuckled and shook her head at him, but shrugged. "Oh, what the hell. I guess we're on for next Friday, too."

"Now there's what every guy loves to hear," he grumbled. "Try that once more, with feeling."

"Tristan Dugray, it would be my pleasure."

"Better." He gave in to the smirk. "How about next Saturday?"

She began to roll her eyes in exasperation, but he quickly released her hand and threw both of his up in preemptive surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll stop while I'm ahead."

"Good thinking."

"I'll see you at seven," he repeated again before he finally turned and headed back down the hallway to his own office.

She couldn't help but watch him walk away, shaking her head a bit. She hadn't expected that reaction when she'd half-heartedly chastised him about his last-minute invite for tonight. Nevertheless, something deep in her chest felt sort of warm and gooey at the idea that he'd basically indicated that he wanted to monopolize her weekends for the foreseeable future.

She supposed there were worse things than spending her free time with such a fine specimen of blue-eyed distraction, so she forced herself to tuck into her work in effort to get out of the office in time for the first of their upcoming appointments.


End file.
